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Author: mhelbert

Walking the path of Ignatius Loyola

Published by mhelbert on October 7, 2013

ignacio1Today I am embarking on a new spiritual journey. My Spiritual Director is going to lead me through what are known as the Ignatian Exercises. For the next 36 weeks, or so, we will travel a path first explored by the 16th century founder of the Society of Jesus, better known as the Jesuits, Ignatius Loyola. Born into the feudal culture of northern Spain, Loyola dreamed of being a part of the grandeur that courtly love and knighthood could provide. He very nearly realized his dream when he was severely wounded in a battle against the French. During the time in which he recuperated from his wounds he read books on the lives of Jesus and the saints. He discerned that people described in these lives exhibited many of the same heroic and chivalrous characteristics that he admired. At the same time, however, he continued to dream about life at court. As he continued to reflect on and examine his thoughts and feelings he noticed that as he contemplated the lives of Jesus and the saints, he felt inner peace and satisfaction. When he thought about life at court, feelings of dissatisfaction predominated. This awareness inaugurated his life quest that culminated in the development and propagation of the Spiritual Exercises. Loyola realized that through prayer, study and a process called examen, perhaps the cornerstone of the Exercises, one could “detect God’s presence and discern his direction for us.”

Ok, so why am I even considering this process? After all, I’m old and feeble. My life has been lived according to the standards and expectations of our culture. I’ve worked hard at a vocation to provide for my family. All of the requisite activities of parenthood and marriage have been accomplished. Yet, like Loyola, I continue to strive with feelings of dissatisfaction and restlessness. I have labored for 40 years in an industry that creates in me anxiety and a great sense of helpless entrapment that eats away at my soul. Even family life does not completely fill the void in my heart that our culture, particularly the evangelical culture that I was a part of, claims that it should. There are those who would say that all I need to do is surrender to God’s will and all will be well with the world. But, that begs the question…what is God’s will? And, I’m not really that interested with all things being well with the world. Occasional happiness and satisfaction would be quite alright. I’m not hoping to experience any profound theological insights. Nor, am I envisioning some kind of neo-monastic lifestyle. The Exercises are about self-discovery. They are a tool for discernment and direction. They are a way to know and experience God’s presence in one’s life. That is why I am forging ahead with Loyola.

As my Spiritual Director and I follow Loyola’s footsteps, I hope to write about the experience here. Perhaps any who read this blog will have insights that can help me and other readers. Please share these in the comments. Do I think this process will be a panacea that answers all of my life’s questions? Not at all. But, even at this stage of my life I must have some direction about my vocation…my calling…in life.

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Remembering Grandpa Tom

Published by mhelbert on October 4, 2013

TomThis past weekend I got to know my paternal grandfather a little bit. I never did meet him before he died in 1959. I was just a wee lad and he lived in another state. My dad never talked about him much. He and my dad’s stepmother had divorced and Tom left dad with her. I don’t think dad ever really forgave him for that. The story was that Tom was an alcoholic and pretty much not good for anything. At least, that’s the version I was told.

I have spent much of the last month since dad’s passing sifting through papers, photos and other bits and pieces of his and mom’s life. This past weekend I finally got to the boxes of pictures and old letters. Scribbled on the lid of one box, with black magic marker, was “Tom.” In that box I found a treasure. There were photos of a young child in clothes that would definitely get him beaten up if he wore them today. Tom was born in 1897, so the styles, especially the dress styles, were…well, something to behold. Think of Ron Weasley at the Hogwarts’ Yule ball in The Goblet of Fire. There were a few family photos showing Tom with his parents and siblings. All of these image revealed the family standing rigid and straight-faced as if the camera was a firing squad. Then, I found a couple pictures with Tom and his first wife, Mary. That marriage did not last long. His second wife was named Goldie. My dad came into this life as the consummation of this union. Unfortunately, Goldie passed from tuberculosis when dad was just 6 years old. I don’t think that Tom ever really recovered from that. It seems that the loss of his beloved Goldie was the beginning of his downward spiral into the maelstrom of alcohol and forgetfulness. Tom did remarry, I think for Bill’s sake, but as I wrote above, that did not last nor end well.

Tom relocated to Florida where he pretty much fell off the grid. Perhaps, he thought that the further he could run from his past the better he would feel. He found employment on various farms helping to harvest citrus and other fruit and vegetables. These years have been erased…at least for me. Perhaps one of Tom’s siblings kept some information that has been passed on. But, I really don’t have any contact with any of  them. What I did find, however, was a stack of old letters and other correspondence from the last few years of Tom’s life. Most of the letters were written by Tom to one of his sisters in Ohio. These letters, dated between 1956 and 1959, revealed a man who was lost and reaching out to the only people who could connect him to a happier existence.

Tom was a simple man. The letters were penciled on small note pad type paper. The hand that drew the characters was not steady. Maybe from drinking. Maybe from handling something as foreign as a writing instrument. It was obvious that his education was not a high priority when he grew up. The spelling and grammar were at a grade school level. He was ‘shure’ glad when the ‘wether’ was nice and his ‘cocial security’ check arrived. The content was simple. He asked about his sister’s life and condition. And, he replied with reports of his health and the current weather conditions. I found out that my dad had been writing to him, as Tom wrote that he had received letters from Billy. Funny, Dad never mentioned that. From these letters I learned that Tom had to have a leg amputated 4 inches below the knee. He considered the repercussions that the ‘wooden leg’ he was getting would have on his life. I don’t know why the leg was removed. I think that the cause was a work related injury because he mentioned disability checks. But, that’s only conjecture. In letters dated form 1958 I learned that Tom had throat cancer. His frustration at getting straight answers from doctors was quite evident. (I guess some things never change.) At one point he wrote that he was convinced that he did not have cancer, but a ‘toomer.’ And for that, he was getting ‘treetment’.

In all of the letters there was an almost desperate longing for relationship. Although he put on the façade of someone who was independent and was taking care of himself, he ended the letters with pleas for his sister to answer the letter quickly. Or, he wrote for his sister to tell Perl, his brother, or Billy to please answer his letters. It was as if he was shouting, “Sis! Please tell someone…anyone…to talk to me, listen to me…touch me!” As the summer of 1959 unfolded, Tom’s health took a turn for the worse. I found a couple of letters from Tom’s doctor stating that there was nothing more that they could do for him. The best treatment they had was simply palliative, or comfort care. Late that summer my family and I were in Maine on vacation. It was there that dad received the call that Tom had passed.

We packed and returned home.

Tom’s sister made all of the arrangements to have Tom returned to Ohio where he finally found peace lying next to his mother in a small cemetery on a hill in the countryside.

I still don’t know Tom. I’ve learned a little about him. But, just like the word ‘tree’ is not actually a tree, these mementos are not actually the real man. There is so much that I don’t know about my adopted family. People I will never know…places and events that have long since escaped memory. I have few ties with the past…the legacy of humanity. I have embraced my place as one grafted into this family tree. Thomas Lester Helbert is the name of my branch.

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Musings on a Wednesday Morning

Published by mhelbert on October 2, 2013

I love sitting in the stillness of the morning. Outside there are the sounds of crickets and the occasional acorn falling on a nearby rooftop. A candle, the scent of cinnamon, burns and fills the room with autumn. My thoughts wander here and there. They touch memories and sensations within me; without me. In the core of my being, my heart, I sense God’s presence. Peace. Be still, O my soul.

riverI allow the Muse to guide me. ‘Where shall we go? To what far off land or sea or star?’ Perhaps, we’ll simply drift on a river as it meanders through green fields. We listen to the sound of the water flowing gently over a bed of small rocks and pebbles. It tells tales of aeons past. It knows the fish and the fowl by name. Ancient people traveled along its banks; floated on its back. Never tiring, it bends and winds its way from its source to the Great Sea. There its life mingles with that of the Other in brackish love-making in which it is embraced, consumed by this One. Is this not the way of it? We travel the path before us. Touching and being touched we grow and we learn. From our beginning, our source, we are destined to live, laugh, cry…love. If fortune smiles upon us, another may join in our journey. A companion, a friend…a lover. However, our path and theirs are not the same. Even though we walk together I have my own quest. And, you have yours. Joyful as our time spent together may be, one day our ways must diverge. You will be joined to Another. Embraced by the One who is the true Source. And, I…I will flow into the Great Sea.

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Remembering the Class of ’73

Published by mhelbert on October 1, 2013

This past weekend was our city celebrated Homecoming. There was the requisite high school football game on Friday night. On Saturday people gathered for a parade and other activities. Sunday morning the local Kiwanis club served their pancake breakfast to the hungry masses. This year, however, there was an additional event. It was the 40 year reunion of the Avon Lake High School class of 1973.

Forty years since a group of people, many of whom had grown up together, walked onto the football field dressed in maroon and gold caps and gowns.  Forty years since we sat anxiously awaiting the proclamation that we were free to go out and seek our fortunes. Forty years had flowed by since we hugged and slapped each other on the back. Forty years in which many of us had raised families and watched our children graduate from high school. Forty years that had passed by in a heartbeat.

We had a fairly good turnout for the event. Classmates came in from all over the world to attend. One good friend of mine had just arrived from Kuala Lumpur. Another from Atlanta, GA. Still others from New York, North Carolina and Chicago. I was surprised at how many of us still lived here and had never connected. Yeah, there are a few folks that I see from time to time at the local stores. But, out of all the people from our class, I can count on my fingers the number that I have seen and talked with. On that day in June of 1973 we all walked away from one another with our diplomas and our dreams.

The next day my wife and I told our daughter about the reunion. She responded that she probably would not attend any of hers. She said that she really didn’t have too many friends in her class, so why bother. I have to admit that I had shared a bit of apprehension about that myself. I don’t have too many fond memories of my years in high school. It was a time of transition and change. Awkward young teens growing and developing into young adults. New experiences and responsibilities strive with childhood security and comfort. There is a desire to fit in and be accepted. Yet, there is also, the need to explore individuality. For many this makes one’s image a matter of great importance. What to wear and who to hang out with are things obsessed about. Add to all of this raging hormones and a dash of teenage angst and the whole high school experience can become something altogether forgettable.

At the reunion, however, I found a group of people who had grown and matured. The lines that had defined us had long since dissolved. Where once there were jocks and freaks; greasers and bandies, now there were just people working day to day making a living the best that they can. I saw people that I had loved and cared about secretly, because they weren’t ‘cool.’ Now we were all free to embrace and affirm one another. Businesses, bills, children, responsibilities, and aging parents have worn the rough edges like waves battering granite cliffs. The years have produced lines of erosion etched into our faces. These things have leveled the playing field. We were, at last, equal. Equally worthy of honor and respect. Equal in our quest for immortality through the next generations that we have brought into existence. That night I saw classmates, peers, sisters and brothers.

The most difficult part of the evening was remembering those who could not be with us. The folks that planned the event set up a special table with the name tags of those who have passed on. I’m sure that everyone else felt as I did. We’re simply not old enough to be feeling our mortality like this. The really hard part was realizing that many of these people had passed through the veil in their youth. Seeing some of the name tags ripped open memories that I had thought were healed. I guess they will never completely heal. And, that’s a good thing. Our memories keep us in to connect us with the realities that we once lived. The guys in auto-shop and the math/science geeks are all part of what has made us who we are. Our memories continue to shape us even as our original experiences did. So, we raise our glasses in gladness and hope. To the class of ’73…God bless and Godspeed.

What are some of your memories of school?

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Whose Side are You On? No.

Published by mhelbert on September 24, 2013

liberal-conservativeFor anyone who has been awake in the U.S. in recent years, the conflict between conservatives and liberals, right and left, has taken center stage, not only in the political arena, but in economics, religion and anywhere else that people can stand against one another. We have all witnessed the vitriol spewing all over broadcast and social media. And, I suppose that many of us simply cannot identify with everything being claimed and counter-claimed by pundits and so-called ‘experts’ who speak and write with self-proclaimed authority. I know that I can’t. In truth, I cannot align myself with either side in these arguments.

One of the problems is that we have allowed these people to define and shape the discussions. Regardless of the issue, there always seems to be someone willing to stand up and ask, ‘Who’s with me? Who’s against me?’ Immediately the line has been drawn and everyone is expected to stand on one side or the other. Then, we can all snarl and growl at each other. What if we were to say “no, I don’t feel like playing those games? Too many people get hurt.”

I used to play, though. For years I stood on the left of the line. Those were the days when I was a young, naïve idealist. I really thought that the folks of my generation were going to stand up and change the world. We watched as American apartheid was dismantled. We were front row witnesses to the downfall of a president and the end of, what was up until that time, the United States’ most unpopular war. People were being liberated from constructs and systems that had bound women, the poor and people of color for centuries. (Well, at least we thought so.) Then, as I grew older, got a job, married and had children, I heard a voice from the right, ‘red rover, red rover, let Mikie come over.’ And, I did. The idealism of my youth was slowly replaced by pragmatism. The reality of caring for hearth and home turned my gaze inward. It was more important to feed my family than to concern myself with feeding ‘those’ people. Yeah, we dipped our toes into the humanitarian pool by supporting organizations that helped others. But, by sending a check we didn’t need to really think about them.

Then, a funny thing happened, though. My inner idealist woke up. I began to see that the conservative blood that was coursing through my veins carried no nutrients to my soul. The polarizing effect that is inherent in so many of the discussions and decisions that I was party to simply drained me and left me with a conflicted identity. Seriously, I really didn’t know who I was or what I was doing. So, I moved back toward the left. This, too, was not satisfying. What we call liberalism today is empty. It has its roots in the enlightenment of the 18th and 19th centuries. At its core is the belief that human reason can lift humanity to higher self-realization and prosperity. Liberalism exalts individuality even as it strives for a sense of communal accountability. The modernist ideal that grew during that period brought about giant leaps in technology, science and medicine. It also was at the foundation of White privilege and Manifest Destiny. These caused unsurpassed damage to indigenous people worldwide and environmental destruction beyond reason. So, no…liberal doesn’t fit me.

I do lean to the left, however. I stand firmly with the 99%. I support LGBT people in their struggle for rights and identity. I think that the Affordable Care Act is a great step forward, albeit, not the final step. Food stamps and other tools that can help people who really need help are good. I also feel that infatuation with the military can only cause harm and hardship. Some people might say, “Yeah, looks like a liberal and smells like a liberal. Gotta be a liberal!” Well, let’s not jump there so quickly. Over at Homebrewed Christianity, Bo Sanders has written some good stuff on the differences between liberals and what has been termed Progressives here and here. While I don’t pretend to fully understand all that Sanders wrote, I do notice that the emphasis appears to be more on the community of believers rather than on the potential of human individualism. For me, then, the concept of a body that has a source outside of human achievement begins to come into focus.

Perhaps the most distinguishable difference, at least for me, is the reality of the transcendent. I embrace the mysteries of faith. Those things that human reason simply cannot grasp, but are real. I believe in miracles. I long for the transformative nature of God’s Holy Spirit. I embrace the relationships between humans and the Good Creation. Relationships that are more than simply utilitarian. We are more than organic mechanisms, yet less than divine. It’s because of this that I must support organizations and policies that are designed lift people out of misery. That’s why I cannot support Western arrogance and militarism. That’s why I give my hand and my heart to those deemed ‘less than’ or ‘other.’ No, I’m neither liberal nor conservative. I’m simply a human being.

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To Suffer…and To Suffer With

Published by mhelbert on September 20, 2013

In a recent post I mused about God’s relationship with the entirety of the Good Creation. That, perhaps, at the moment that the universe began to grow and form God had shared a part of God’s own essence. We are all interconnected, related, because of the Breath of God that has given to us. In another post I wrote a little about my own journey through depression and self-loathing. The story is painful for me to recount. But, I must share just a tad more.

This week I messaged a young person who is battling her own inner demons of depression. I don’t know why, but something about this person has caused my heart to be open…vulnerable. I have tried to encourage her to ‘keep on keepin’ on.’ In a reply she wrote something that really caught me off guard. I quickly responded with an apology. But, I felt horrible inside. Now, for most people the exchange would have been nothing to be concerned about. The words shared were neither abusive nor inappropriate. However, what I had thought would be helpful was rejected. By extension, I felt rejected. When a person lives with depression, any rejection, real or perceived, can throw that person into a downward spiral into interior depths where all sorts of beasties live. Throughout the remainder of that day I was pretty much lost. It got to the point where I asked a friend of mine why I was such an ‘asswipe.’ Sleep was lost to me that night as I considered and reconsidered what had happened. I beat myself up for feeling bad. I cursed myself for the words, as innocuous as they were. Other unrelated issues began to pop up and cause more anxiety. You see, with me that’s how depression works. It causes all of my strength to focus inwardly. I can see nothing but my own faults and inadequacies.

The next morning as I was trying to meditate and pray, I picked up a book by Brian McClaren compassionentitled Naked Spirituality. I had been reading it recently for, I don’t know, the umpteenth time. I opened it to the place I had marked the last time I had read from it. The words jumped off of the page! He was writing about compassion. Particularly, how we respond to the suffering of others. The word does not, as some have said, have anything to do with having passion, as in “she is passionate about someone or something.” The passion part of the word carries the same meaning as when people speak of the Passion of Christ. It is derived from Latin and can be translated “to suffer with.” McClaren wrote that when we are presented with the suffering of others we can respond in one of several ways. We may become “calloused, uncaring, embittered, or overwhelmed.” I had become clearly overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by this young person’s suffering and by my own inability to deal with rejection. Compassion was what  I needed. And, I needed it now! Compassion forces folks to look outside of themselves. Our gaze looks upward and outward for relief for the object of our compassion. It breaks forth in pleas for mercy. And, as McClaren wrote, it enables us to “choose connection over disconnection, compassion over apathy, commitment and expansion over constriction and contraction.” I began to pray. Prayer for this young person and her life. Prayer for the enlargement of my heart. Prayer that took my eyes off of me and fixed them on the loving Creator who imbued me and this other person with God’s own breath. Have I found a cure for depression? No, it’s something that I will continue to live with. However, I have found another weapon to use against it. Compassion.

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Tumbling into tumblr.

Published by mhelbert on September 18, 2013

tumblrIn July I was introduced to tumblr. Mostly, because Rachel Held Evans started a blog there. (Ok, I pay attention to what she does cuz she’s successful and I’m not.) Many young folks have migrated there because Facebook has become the hallowed grounds of the Old and Unknowing. I don’t understand how young folks don’t get that wherever they go, the old and infirm are sure to follow.

Anyway, I’ve become addicted. I never thought that social media could grab me and drag me in…but, tumblr. has. CRAP! The tumbr. world is diverse. There are people posting images, poems, short prose and quotes. Some of the blogs are designed to enable writers and artists to share their work and to learn from one another. Some of these allow others to submit their work for online publication. Others simply offer tips and encouragement. And, actually, much of the art, photography and writing is quite good.

There is another side to tumblr., however. Many of those who blog there, perhaps most of them, are young adults. This particular medium offers them a venue where they can explore and expand on the conflicts that they experience as they journey, the best that they can, from the safe world of childhood to the unpredictable world of adulthood. I think that part of the allure of tumblr. is that it allows people to post pretty much anything and everything. Someone may post an image of a forest stream one minute. In the next, they show the scars where they have cut themselves. Another may post kittens and unicorns followed by images that suggest drug abuse. The whole universe of teen angst is on display for the world to see. Shocking? Yeah, some of it is. And, I think that’s the purpose for much of it. Through images and words that press against social morés, many of these people are clearly seeking attention. This is nothing new. Young adults seek to find an identity that they can live with. By drawing attention to themselves they can test and find that which will, in some way, make them ‘acceptable.’ There are others, though, that seem to be stuck. For them depression and sadness have led to self-harm and other self-destructive behavior. These are the people that I can empathize with.

I am, as one friend puts it, “a sensitive musician.” He usually says it as a kind of fun pejorative. But, he’s right. In a brain dominance test many years ago, I was the group’s ‘space cadet’ because I live in the right side of my brain. As a young person I felt misunderstood and marginalized by family and friends. I experienced deep depression and sadness. At times I fell so far into myself that I didn’t realize that I had just scratched the skin off of the tops of my hands so that they bled. I found some solace in drugs and alcohol. Yet, this only seemed to help for a short while. I have always had a sense of unworthiness. Unworthy to receive good things…including love. Imagine my surprise when I learned that there is a person who can love without condition. This person understands the alienation and pain that I know so well because he experienced it himself. Yeshua ben Yosef…Jesus son of Joseph…is that person. Am I well now? Hardly. I still deal with depression, self-loathing and some self-destructive activities. But, I am not alone. And, I have a relationship with Someone whom I am confident ‘gets’ me. More than that, however, I have a connectedness with others who, like me, have hope for the future. Perhaps, this is why I’m so drawn to the young people who inhabit the tumblr. universe. They are me. We are a community of hurting misfits. We think and reflect deeply about our world and how we can be a significant part of it. We desire to be understood, yet, in a way we take pride in knowing that we can’t be understood. We refuse to be categorized, preferring instead an enigmatic life. But, we appreciate your presence more than you can ever know. We receive life from you when you notice us. The God who I follow has fashioned us to be a community. We are all interrelated in ways that my puny, little brain cannot ever hope to fathom. I can only share my small spark of life with those who need it. tumblr. is a place where I can do that.

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Relationships…What if?

Published by mhelbert on September 10, 2013

CreationI started to write this post a few days after we buried Dad. It’s taken a little longer to write than I had originally thought.

I’ve just gone back to work after Dad’s passing. I have mixed feelings about going back. Part of me really would like to take a few more days to recover from the emotional stress of watching Dad during his final hours. Lack of sleep and good nutrition has left me physically drained. Another part of me feels the need to get back in the saddle. Work can be a good diversion, focusing the mind on tasks other than funerals and mourning.
The outpouring of support from extended family and friends has been amazing. I’m not sure that I would be of much use to anyone if not for their encouragement and presence. Yeah, I still like books, but all of these people made the last week not only bearable, but in many ways, pleasant. What can I say? We’re all connected in some way. There is something more than just our common humanity at play here. We all share in the brevity and frailty of life. Love given and received binds us with others as we form communities.
But, there is something more. The connection between us as humans is vast and wide. Why would a person in one part of the world care about the needs of someone 14,000 miles away on the other side of the world? Especially, when that one person has more than enough cares and troubles of her or his own? How can I travel to another culture, not knowing the language, and actually communicate with someone? Perhaps, there is an affinity between us because we are the same species. You know, ‘birds of a feather.’ That could be part of it, I suppose. However, those birds simply flock together. They don’t go out of their way to care for the needs of others. Some birds don’t even care for their own young! No, I don’t see that being the common thread that binds us. I think that there is something other than our physical reality at play here.
What that something is has been speculated about ever since humans began to think. (Although, there are some folks today that I wonder about.) I’m not going to join in that philosophical discussion. I’m woefully under qualified for that.
However, I might speculate on something else… relationship. What if that common characteristic is buried deep within humanity? And, what if it is empowered by an outside source? (I’m just musing.) Could it be that what we call God, or Creator, or any number of names is responsible for touching each of us? Perhaps there is a relationship between this God and the Good Creation that acts as a catalyst causing humans to care. Not only caring for other humans, but for the Good Creation as well. That would explain why there are organizations such as Green Peace and Doctors Without Borders. There are thousands of shelters for battered and beaten people. Environmental and human rights organizations flourish. All of this in a world that seems bent on self destruction. Why? I have no pat answer. Nor, does anyone else.
Maybe, the relationship between the Creator and the Good Creation has been damaged. This has been the position of the Christian Church. They accept that sometime in the distant past, between 6 & 10 thousand years ago, God created all things and declared them ‘good.’ The entire created universe was pristine, if not ‘perfect.’ Humankind was innocent and enjoyed relationships with God and the creation. However, these humans were somehow enticed to disobey God and suffered a ‘fall’ of some sort that affected all of creation. The good relationships with God and the cosmos were damaged. Yet, there was still something within them, a broken shard of God’s image that continued to allow some people to do good things. This idea was first articulated by Augustine of Hippo in the late 4th to early 5th centuries. Personally, I don’t agree with him about the ‘fall.’ But, more on that at another time.
What if, about 14 billion years ago, the known universe erupted and began to form into the wondrous environment that we now live in? Then, somewhere around 4.5 billion years ago this system of planets and asteroids and other matter began to form around a larger mass that became our Sun. Over time changes occurred due to any number of causes and effects. On the third rock from this sun these changes caused organisms to develop that contained within them the potential for what we call ‘life.’ Eventually, millions more years passed until a certain small segment of these organisms developed and matured until humanity emerged…upright and aware of itself within this Great and Good Creation. Now, I hear the voices saying, “Whoa! Where is God in this? Isn’t this just a rehash of some Darwinian theory?” Well, yeah it is…kind of. But, what if God has been a part of this entire process? Perhaps not in an entirely active way. Nor, as the deists would say, as a passive observer. Maybe, God breathed God’s life into that original bit of matter and imbued it with God’s own presence. I’m not going to go into panentheism. I don’t think that the universe is part of God nor that the universe is synonymous with God. I’m saying that, perhaps, God is the One who animated and gave ‘life’ to the process. That God has carefully watched over the cosmos, not as an ‘intelligent designer,’ but as a caring and loving parent who knew and trusted that things would develop a certain way.
In the beginning, the breath of God…Ruach Elohim, who hovered over the formless void…was God the Spirit. The Word of God, spoken, brought order out of chaos. God, present from the beginning, shared part of God’s self with what became the Cosmos. Humans, aware of time, space and self also had the capacity to ‘know’ God. Far from being a separate entity at the top of some cosmic hierarchy, humans have derived their essence from that which erupted all those billions of years earlier. We are ‘part and parcel’ with all of the Good Creation. Relationships…they are built into us…from the beginning.

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It’s Hard to be Human

Published by mhelbert on September 6, 2013

Crowd of peopleIt’s hard being human. We have minds that think. There are emotions and desires that stir and motivate us. We are sentient and aware of ourselves and our relationship in time and space. Our realities and experiences are as varied as each individual, yet we have a commonality that binds us together. All of this seems to indicate that humans should be happy that they are apparently the pinnacle of creation.

Yet, we are not happy. We are a conflicted lot, internally as well as externally. Externally, it’s easy to see how very disturbed we are. Watch the news or read a newspaper, (if you can find one). Every day people are being abused, robbed, murdered or taken advantage of by others. Wars are waged in the name of whatever the cause du jour is. (For some reason people seem to think that if you kill people peace will break out.) The privileged oppress those who are not. Greed and lust for power are systemic ills that are deeply embedded in virtually every culture. Yeah, it’s hard to be human.

Internally, we wage our own private wars against ourselves. Many of us live in cultures that value things like integrity and character. We have set up ideals that we aspire to attain. But, we can never seem to grasp them. We denounce greed, yet desire more. Mention lust and people gasp and put their hand over their mouth. Our eyes, however, crave to see and our hands to hold that object of our desire. Voices cry out against injustice. In that inner most part of us, though, there is another voice that laughs at it. Our appetites rule us and our desires drive and motivate us. Then, we wake up the next morning and our heads hurt and our bodies ache and we wonder what the hell just happened. It’s still hard to be human.

If these observations of mine are not true, then why are there so many self-help groups, gurus, counselors and therapists, churches and para-church organizations and books in the millions designed to inspire and motivate us to be ‘better’? In the particular religious culture that I spent many years immersed in, they would say, “Just read your Bible and pray.” They seemed to think that the Bible was some sort of talisman and prayer a kind of magic that could ward off the evil of the flesh and this ‘present generation. Shame and guilt were used to keep the flock in line. These, of course, do nothing but add to the inner conflict of people who are already hurting. Not only am I battling my inner ‘demons,’ now I’m also a bad person for having these thoughts and feelings. This, too, is a form of abuse. Damn, it’s hard being human!

I don’t think that it has ever been easy to be human. Our species has endured a lot of adversity over the millennia that we’ve been present on this planet. Nature has been against us. We have been against each other. Drought, famine, war…it seems like there are always battles to fight. Yet, we have survived. In fact, some would say that we are thriving is spite of the adversity.

As, I was praying this morning these thoughts came to my mind. I shared them with God saying, “It’s hard to be human.” And, I didn’t hear any disagreement. I think this may be because God now knows what it’s like to wear a body of flesh and bone. The Creator has experienced the reality of the created. Reading the stories that recount God’s sojourn among us, I am struck by the fact that Jesus’ life was not easy. He wandered around Palestine and probably wondered more than once where his next meal would come from. Hated and despised by his own culture, he continued to press on. Those who, like himself, were on the fringes of society…the people who were hurting and marginalized…he loved and cared for. And, he encouraged them to persevere and to continue to put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t offer spiritual platitudes and magic to remove the obstacles that confronted them. He said, “Go, and stop sinning,” or “take up your cross and follow me.” I think that Jesus realized that the only way people could live and thrive was to take on adversity head on and to do the necessary work to deal with it. I suppose that means when the external injustices rise up to crush people, we stand against them. Maybe, the internal appetites and desires will always, always, always be with us. Our lives will be spent in the muck of living. We’re going to be confronted with desires that we must resist. There will be cravings that must be tempered with self-control. We must then confront these things with whatever strength we can muster. Difficult? Yeah. But, whoever said it was easy…to be human?

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