Misfits

Listen: “Creep” by Radiohead

I like hanging out with misfits. I always have. I have felt like one myself at various times in my life—never more intensely than the last three years. I have joined a special group of people who are called by some: “Fallen Megachurch Pastors.” Isn’t that special? Something to which I always aspired. (Pardon the sarcasm. I actually prayed a million prayers to finish well. If you belong to this special group, please contact me. I need some friends!) I have also joined a special group of people who are called by some: “Recovering Substance Abusers.” I heard a recent lecture about stigmas associated with substance use disorder and learned that 45% of the public is unwilling to live next to or be close friends with someone with a substance use disorder (SUD); and similarly, about 45% of the public don’t want a person in recovery marrying into their family.

Based on my pastoral experience and thousands of hours of listening to people (pastoral counseling), I’m guessing most people have felt like they don’t fit in at some point in their life. It could be as simple as not fitting in with the “cool” kids at school or the “in-crowd” at work. Minority groups and individuals are most vulnerable to feeling like misfits based on color of skin, physical disabilities, diseases, mental disabilities, SUDs, behavioral addictions, economic status, intellectual disabilities, ethnicity, abuse victims, sexual orientation, and convicted criminals—to name a few.

I remember on a few occasions counseling with women in my church who were professional models—super models in my book. And yet, the women had horrible self-image problems. They hated their bodies. When they looked in the mirror, they only saw flaws. Their self-hatred resulted in eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia. From the outside, no one would have thought these women were misfits. But they were.

I have always been drawn to music and movies which highlight the plight of misfits. Whether it’s Radiohead singing “Creep” or Garth Brooks singing “Friends in Low Places.” I’ve always liked the comic, superhero genre of movies (DC Comics or Marvel) because most superheroes are misfits like Daredevil or Jessica Jones, or a collection of misfits like Suicide Squad, X-Men, and the Watchmen.

One of my favorite independent films is called “Love Song for Bobby Long” which was written and directed by Shainee Gabel, based on the novel Off Magazine Street by Ronald Everett Capps. Its world premiere was at the 61st Venice International Film Festival on September 2, 2004. It stars John Travolta as a brilliant, aging alcoholic who was once a famous English professor, and a young Scarlett Johansson as a headstrong woman who returns to New Orleans after the death of her estranged mother. The film features a collection of misfits who form a community of love and acceptance despite the tragic flaws of each person. This grace-based community of misfits offers surprising elements of redemption to each other. The soundtrack is one of my favorites as well.

After watching the film, I went down a rabbit hole. I ordered the book upon which it was based: Off Magazine Street. I found the book even more enchanting, and the author, Ronald Everett Capps, was a big fan of playwright Tennessee Williams. After reading Capps novel, I started reading Williams’ plays, and I fell in love with Tennessee Williams’ plays. Williams is best know for plays like A Street Car Named Desire, Cat On a Hot Tin Roof, The Glass Menagerie, and The Night of the Iguana. His characters are beautifully flawed, both tragic and resilient. Williams says, “My chief aim in playwriting is the creation of character. I have always had a deep feeling for the mystery in life, and essentially my plays have been an effort to explore the beauty and meaning in the confusion of living.” In my view, Tennessee Williams displays an ability to capture redemptive notes in tragically flawed human beings—a gospel for misfits. “What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains” said Blanche DuBois in A Street Car Named Desire.  Blanche, in her desperately dignified resilience, utters a famous line at the end of the play: “Whoever you are—I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

As misfits, we find ourselves grateful for any act of kindness, whether from a stranger or friend. The world and its inhabitants can, at times, be so harsh, so critical and judgmental of misfits. Kindness feels like a drink of fresh, cool water to a parched and carped soul.

Which brings me around to one of my favorite themes for misfits—Grace. I remember reading for the first time in 1997 one of my top ten books of all time, What’s So Amazing About Grace by Philip Yancey. In one of the chapters, “No Oddballs Allowed,” Yancey attempts to unpack the quirky dietary restrictions found in the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible). In some of the ancient purity codes found in the Hebrew Bible, it seems that anything that was diseased, blemished, or even odd was considered unclean. In order to stay clean, one must not touch or associate with anything that was unclean—people, places, or things.

Christians today who enjoy pork chops, scallops, oysters on the half shell, and lobster may easily miss the revulsion 1st century Jews experienced around this behavior. Maybe we could compare it to someone eating a cat or a rat in America today, but infused with religious objection and judgment. By Jewish law, these animals were unclean, maybe because they were oddballs (like fish with no scales or birds that can’t fly). According to Jewish writer Herman Wouk, “fit” is the best English equivalent for “kosher.” Something is not “kosher” because it is abnormal. It doesn’t fit. A misfit. (The Rabbinic tradition is rich with fresh, positive insights on kosher practice today. It’s easy to contaminate ourselves with things like bitterness and self-hatred.)

Jesus dismantled the ritual purity culture rung by rung. He taught that purity is a condition of the heart—a heart filled with love and grace—not something unclean from outside the body which might contaminate the body (Mark 7:20-23). According to Yancey, “In essence, Jesus canceled the cherished principle of the Old Testament, No Oddballs Allowed, replacing it with a new rule of grace: ‘We’re all oddballs, but God loves us anyhow’” (p. 153).

I like hanging out with misfits. I feel at home with the homeless, and a fit with the misfits. I look forward to connecting with a community of grace-filled misfits who find surprising elements of redemption on this journey we call life.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Learning to See

Listen: “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera

Have you ever wondered why people don’t see things the way you see them? Have you ever wanted someone to see the world through your eyes? Have you ever wanted to see the world through someone else’s eyes? Have you ever tried to explain something to someone and they just don’t get it? Have you ever lost confidence in the way you see the world?

Everyone sees differently. Brothers and sisters growing up with the same parents can see the world differently based on their birth order, personality, love language, talents, passions, hurts, sexual orientation, and inconsistencies in parental nurturing. Siblings growing up with the same parents, same economic status, same race, same language, same country, same politics, same neighborhood, same schools, same opportunities, and same obstacles, can still see and interpret life experiences differently.

I grew up in a white, American, Protestant/Catholic, middle class, midwest, suburban neighborhood in Kansas City, Missouri. My family and my neighborhood shaped the early development of how I saw the world—my worldview (a particular set of cultural, philosophical, political, and religious beliefs concerning the world). As I think back, several factors helped me understand that not everyone had the same worldview as me: (1) some of my childhood friends had vastly different experiences with their parental environment ranging from nurturing to abusive; (2) my university experience was southern, white, Protestant, but I was exposed to world history, philosophy, culture, economics, politics, science, and religion through a Bachelor of Arts degree. I also interacted with students from around the world; (3) I started traveling around the world doing missions and humanitarian work; and (4) I developed some deep friendships with people from very diverse backgrounds such as African Americans, Latinos, Asians, Europeans, Arab Muslims, Israelis, Canadians, and Ethiopians.

When I travel, I typically spend time with the people who invite me. This is a totally different experience than traveling to a place as a tourist. When you become friends with the people who live in a particular location, you talk about their way of life, their family, their work, and their worldview. I have stayed or visited in the homes of people who live in Canada, Mexico, Ecuador, England, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Ethiopia, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Palestine, Israel, and United Arab Emirates. These experiences and conversations help you see the world through the eyes of other people and help expose your own biases. I truly believe that seeing the world through the eyes of other people, and learning to recognize our own biases, can help us become more loving people.

I was recently listening to a podcast hosted by Brian McLaren and Richard Rohr entitled, “Learning How to See” (cac.org/podcast/learning-how-to-see), in which Brian discusses thirteen biases which we all experience. All humans have unconscious, internal biases which shape our worldview. These biases can prevent us from seeing reality as it is or blind us to a particular aspect of reality. I would encourage you to listen to the podcast that Brian and Richard hosted, or read Brian’s ebook “Why Don’t They Get It?” (brianmclaren.net). I would encourage you to read through the thirteen biases and begin to reflect on how biases influence you. There is a large volume of brain research which supports how the brain is wired for biases.

Confirmation bias. We judge new ideas based on the ease with which they fit with our old ideas.

Complexity bias. Our brains prefer a simple falsehood to a complex truth.

Community bias. It’s almost impossible to see what our community doesn’t, can’t, or won’t see.

Complementarity bias. If you are hostile to my ideas, I’ll be hostile to yours. If you are curious and respectful toward my ideas, I’ll respond in kind.

Competency bias. We don’t know how much (or little) we know, because we don’t know how much (or little) others know.

Consciousness bias. Some things simply can’t be seen from where I am right now. Personal growth and development open up new ways to see.

Complacency bias. I prefer not to have my comfort disturbed.

Conservative/Liberal bias. I lean toward nurturing fairness and kindness, or towards strictly enforcing purity, loyalty, liberty, and authority, as an expression of my political identity.

Confidence bias. I am attracted to confidence, even if it is false. I often prefer the bold lie to the hesitant truth.

Catastrophe bias. I remember dramatic catastrophes but don’t notice gradual decline (or improvement).

Contact bias. When I don’t have intense or sustained personal contact with “the other,” my prejudices and false assumptions go unchallenged.

Cash bias. It’s hard for me to see something when my way of making a living requires me not to see it.

Conspiracy bias. Under stress or shame, our brains are attracted to stories that relieve us, exonerate us, or portray us as innocent victims of malicious conspirators.

I believe the process of spiritual growth helps us see ourselves, others, and the world with greater clarity and love. Seeing with greater love is the ultimate goal. Jesus made an interesting observation about seeing in the Sermon on the Mount: “Your eye is a lamp that provides light for your body. When your eye is good, your whole body is filled with light. But when your eye is bad, your whole body is filled with darkness. And when the light you think you have is actually darkness, how deep that darkness is! (Matthew 6:22-23; NLT). 

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Learning to Listen

Listen: “Learn to Listen” by Ramones

How do we make the world a better place? Our world is on fire. People are divided. Nations war against nations. Fellow citizens fight against fellow citizens. Religions clash against religions. Races discriminate against races. Companies battle against companies. Families feud against families. Spouses rage against spouses. Friends betray friends. Children insult children.

It’s true. It’s not new. However, we have 24/7 news cycles and 24/7 social media feeds on our cell phones 24/7. That is new in the last decade. Social media feeds employ algorithms which enhance and promote conflict, divisiveness, and hostile speech. (See “The Social Dilemma” documentary, 2020.) So now we have an addictive device attached to our bodies 24/7 which encourages us to hate something or someone. Think about it.

So how do we become purveyors of love instead of disseminators of hate? There was a Jewish Rabbi in the 1st century CE who taught the importance of loving God, loving ourselves, and loving our neighbor. He also taught that if we are ever to stop the cycle of unforgiveness, hatred, and revenge, we must also learn to love our enemies—those are the people who have hurt us or with whom we disagree. They are the people who don’t look like us, act like us, or believe like us—The Other. This 1st century Rabbi said: “Anyone with ears to hear should listen and understand” (Matthew 11:15). But most people don’t listen. They talk louder. They talk faster. They talk with more conviction. They scream. But they don’t listen.

Listening is the first and most important step to understanding, to building bridges, to loving, and to making the world a better place—more love, less hate. Most people never talk to or relate to The Other. Most people hive themselves off from The Other. They make no attempt to listen or understand.

I have several reasons for doing podcast interviews on Spirituality Adventures. One of the most important reasons is to curate a non-judgmental place to explore spirituality through listening to the stories of people by asking good questions. I have five basic categories of questions which I like to ask people. Sometimes I don’t ask all five, but these five questions are foundational to understanding people and what makes them who they are. I would encourage you to use these questions with anyone you meet. I would encourage you to reach out to someone who is very different from you and listen to the answers they give to these questions. You just might learn something new. You might gain some understanding, and you might even make a new friend in the process. Here are the five simple questions:

Where were you born and where did you grow up? It’s such a basic question, but it tells you important information about a person. A person growing up in England, Ethiopia, Ecuador, New York, Alabama, or Missouri will have totally different perspectives on the world based on where they grew up. Did they grow up in a small town or a thriving metropolitan city? On a farm, in a suburban neighborhood, or in an urban center? These foundational experiences shape us.

What characteristics describe your family while you were growing up? Were you rich, poor, or middle class? Did you have two parents? Gay parents?  Mixed parents? Were you raised by a single parent? How many siblings? Were you the oldest or the youngest? Was your family environment strict or permissive? Was there physical or emotional abuse in the home? Was your family a part of the majority culture in your neighborhood? Did you grow up as a minority in your neighborhood or school? Were you a third culture kid?

What is your faith background? This is probably my favorite question because I’ve been a pastor for so many years and love to talk to people about their spiritual journeys. Did you grow up going to a church, synagogue, mosque, or temple. Was faith an important part of your family experience? Did you grow up in an agnostic or atheist home? Was religion forced on you as a child or were you allowed to make your own decision regarding faith? Have you ever had doubts or questions regarding faith? Did you reject the faith of your parents or ever deconstruct your own beliefs?

What are your deepest hurts, pains, or disappointments? This is one of the most important questions you can ask anyone. Obviously, you need to exercise sensitivity regarding the context and timing of this question. How you process your hurts and pains is even more important. Shame, betrayal, divorce, abuse, addiction, illness, injury, and accidents can alter the course of your life. Hurts and pains can define you, but you can also write a brave new ending to the story.

What are your greatest loves and passions? These are the people, places, things, and purposes for which you sing, stay up late, work long hours, study, network, talk incessantly, dream, write, teach, spend resources, and build legacies. It may be your lover, your kids, or your grandkids. It may be your dog or cat. It might be your vocation or your hobby. It might be a social justice cause like combating racism or the eradication of a disease like cancer. People love to talk about what or whom they love. Ask the question and listen closely. You can learn something from everyone. I promise.

These are simple questions, but they are profoundly important. If you learn to listen and understand, you can make friends with enemies. You can make the world a better place. As my friend, Steve Sjogren, has said so often: “Small things done with great love can change the world.” He was talking about acts of kindness. Listening to someone is a small act of kindness that can change the world. Try it! Tune in to my podcast—Spirituality Adventures. Every week I interview a new guest using several of these questions. Let’s learn to listen!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

The Barred Owl

Listen: “Fall Afresh” by Vineyard Worship feat. Samuel Lane

Several years ago, I was awakened in the middle of the night with the sound of a crash against my house. It sounded like someone was trying to break into my house. I immediately thought about protecting myself from an intruder, but I didn’t have a gun, a baseball bat, or even a knife in my bedroom. I crept quietly around my house, listening carefully for sounds of an intruder. I checked the front door, the garage door, and the basement door—no signs of a break in or an intruder.

I was puzzled. “What the heck hit the house and made such a loud noise?” I decided to look out the windows before going outside to check around the house. As I gazed out the sidelights of my front door, I noticed something on my front porch. An owl was lying motionless on my front porch.

I immediately realized the owl had flown into my front glass storm door and either killed itself, broke its neck, or knocked itself out. I instantly wanted to go outside and see if it was still alive, but on second thought decided I better wait to see if it revived on its own. If I went outside and tried to touch it or assist it if it was still alive, I thought I might startle it to such an extent that it would potentially injure itself worse.

So I just waited and watched the owl through the sidelights of my front door. It was about three feet away from me lying motionless on the front porch. As I watched it, I started praying for it to revive. I know. That might sound silly to some of you, but I love owls. I love birds. Back in the 1980’s while I was attending Baylor University, the intramural sports director had gotten me interested in birdwatching. I started going birdwatching with him, started learning my Texas birds, and even started listening to bird songs so I could identify birds by their song.

I had continued this hobby throughout my life. My house backed up to some woods and a creek, so I had identified all the birds which had ever appeared in my backyard over the years, even down to the different types of sparrows. This was definitely an owl, but I wasn’t sure what kind of owl.

As I prayed and watched, the owl started to move. I was so hopeful. Maybe it would live. I was praying that a wild fox or bobcat wouldn’t find a tasty meal.

After another moment, the owl stood up. You could tell it was dazed. It didn’t know what happened, where it was located, or what to do. It just stood there trying to regain its bearings. I started to speak to it softly through the glass. “Hey Mr. Owl. How are you feeling? You must have a massive headache or neck-ache or both. I’m praying for you.”

As I spoke to it, it moved closer to the glass as though it were trying to see who was speaking to it. I was sitting on the floor as I spoke to it, so we were literally inches apart now, staring into each other’s eyes. It was a barred owl—big, beautiful, brown eyes. I’d never been so close to such a beautiful bird. As we stared at each other, a song came to my mind. It’s a song written by an acquaintance of mine, Jeremy Riddle. I first heard this song when another acquaintance of mine, Samuel Lane, covered the song on his 2013 album “The Fire.” I love Samuel Lane’s cover.

I started singing this song to the barred owl as we stared into each other’s eyes just inches apart:

Awaken my soul, come awake

To hunger, to seek, to thirst

Awaken first love, come awake

And do as You did, at first

Spirit of the living God come fall afresh on me

Come wake me from my sleep

Blow through the caverns of my soul

Pour in me to overflow

To overflow

As I sang these words over and over again, I had no inkling of what lay ahead for my life. At the time when this incident occurred, I was pastoring a rapidly growing megachurch which I had started in 1990 with five people. In my mid fifties, I was thinking of my next fifteen years of ministry and how I might continue to pastor the church faithfully and finish well. I had no clue I was headed for a three-quarter life crises that would come close to snuffing out my life.

After this incident happened with the owl, I shared this story with my church in a weekend message. Someone in the church (please identify yourself if you read this) purchased a Limited Edition painting by Paul Vincenti entitled “Barred Owl.” I have the painting in my office today. It reminds me of this beautiful moment I had with the barred owl.

You see, as I sang to the barred owl, it stared into my eyes through the glass as though it were absorbing my words. Maybe it was comforted by feeling the sound vibrations through the glass. I’m not a great singer, but the barred owl didn’t seem to mind. I felt as though I were locked in a trance or a spell while I sang. It was a mystical experience—a union of living spirits.

Time suspended. I sang the words over and over again. Then, as though an internal awakening clicked off inside the barred owl, it turned, took two hops, and then flew across the street and landed on the roof of my neighbor’s house. It sat atop the house for about twenty minutes and then flew off.

As I write this blog looking at the painting of the barred owl, I realize I have quite a bit in common with that barred owl. It’s as though I was given an advanced sign. A sign of hope. A sign of recovery. I am thankful for all who are on this journey of creative recovery with me. I think we all need people to pray for us and to sing over us, especially when we’re “down and out for the count.” Thank you for reading, commenting, supporting, praying, and singing. We need each other.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

A Meditation on Disappointment

Listen: “Rain” by grandson (with Jessie Reyez)

On Saturday, January 22, 2022, I rode my mountain bike on some icy trails at Smithville Lake in about eighteen degree weather. While I was doing a ten mile loop (1.5 hour ride), I slid out on some ice, crashed, got back up and kept riding. No big deal. It’s happened hundreds of times through the years. I have been mountain biking through the winter on snowy, icy trails for over a decade. I got back to my truck and realized that my phone had fallen out of my winter cycling jacket. I had to retrace my route. I wasn’t sure where the phone fell out but guessed it was where I crashed.

While retracing my route and searching for my phone, I crashed again at about three hours into the ride. The phone was on the ground in the snow about right where I crashed the second time. However, this time I really hurt my right shoulder. In fact, based on the pain level and my inability to move my right arm, I was guessing I tore it up pretty good. I was angry. Very angry. I even said a few choice words—a string of them if I remember correctly. “F#K@S&T%D$M!!”

As it turns out, I tore my rotator cuff, and I am scheduled for surgery on my birthday which is March 10. After over twenty years of riding my bike competitively, crashing innumerable times, and walking away with just bruises and stitches, I am now, at this time in my life, hurting myself more seriously. Almost two years ago, I hit a dog while cycling and broke my right collar bone. These are my two worst cycling injuries on record, and they come at a time in my life when I am starting a new nonprofit, trying to rebuild my broken world, and struggling against financial calamity. Let’s just say, I am immensely disappointed.

This disappointment builds on a long streak of over three years of deep disappointments in my life. I can’t seem to stop hurting myself—emotionally and physically. And, frankly, I am not responsible for all the pain in my life; The Universe, God, People, or Whatever have seemed to conspire together to add pain on top of pain. I am truly tired of pain these days—self-inflicted or otherwise.

Trying to figure out how God is involved in all of it can be endlessly exhausting. Believe me, I have spent countless hours my whole life reading, studying, preaching, and teaching on suffering in all its mysterious forms. My sarcastic summary goes something like this: What’s my fault? I get credit for everything that goes badly in my life and try to take responsibility. I shouldn’t have ridden my bike on icy trails. What’s God’s involvement? God gets credit for everything that goes well in life. I’m grateful I got to ride my bike with minor injuries for so many years. What’s the Universe’s part?  The Universe gets credit for everything I can’t explain in life. Shit happens. Deal with it.

I’m sure many of you have struggled in life when bad things seem to pile up against you. Why me? Where is God?  Why do bad things happen to good people? I am thinking of the good people who are living in the Ukraine right now (2022). I am thinking of a friend who is dying of cancer at a young age right now. I am thinking of a former church member who recently died because a tree fell on him. Even when we can blame ourselves for certain bad consequences, the scales of justice seem to be skewed disproportionately against us in certain seasons. Karma, it seems, has screwed us again. 

Prayers don’t seem to make much difference at times. I’ve practiced praying for protection before I drive, before I travel, before I do most anything for over forty years. I always pray for protection before I ride my bike, drive my car, or hop on a plane. (Driving is by far the most risky thing Americans do most every day.)

When I feel deep disappointment (or Great Sadness as William Paul Young calls it), I usually begin to question all kinds of things: with whom or what am I disappointed? Am I disappointed in God? What if there is no God or God’s not at fault? Am I disappointed in The Universe, People, Myself, or All of the Above? I usually have a litany of cliches and platitudes that start ticking off in my brain:

“It could be worse. Be thankful it’s not worse!” (I am. Believe me, I am. I don’t want worse.)

“Make a gratitude list.”

“Make some lemonade.”

“God works everything together for good.”

“One day at a time.”

“It will get better.”

The simplistic nature of these cliches and platitudes can irritate me. I’ve spent decades reading every conceivable idea from every religious tradition on the nature and causes of suffering—Christian ideas, Buddhist ideas, Muslim ideas—and they all seem to leave me pondering with more questions. At the end of all my thinking and reading, I’ve never gone—“Oh, now I get it. It all makes sense to me now.” Still searching for that magic bullet.

Perhaps prayer is still important even if it doesn’t solve anything or prevent anything. (Hang with me for minute.) Maybe prayer helps me sort my feelings, my thoughts, and my motivations. Maybe prayer, meditation, and contemplation simply help me get in touch with reality. Maybe prayer puts me in touch with the unjust nature of reality and all suffering. There is a suffering in which all of humanity and creation participates (Romans 8:22). If we are to embrace the beauty, creativity, love, and grace we find in The Universe, Humanity, Creation, and God; then perhaps we must start with the prayer of forgiveness.

Richard Rohr has suggested: “Faith is simply to trust the real, and to trust that God is found within it—even before we change it.” This kind of faith puts us in touch with “ultimate and humiliating realism, which for some reason demands a lot of forgiveness of almost everything” (Falling Upward, p. 63). “Forgiveness of almost everything”—forgiveness of God, the Universe, Myself, Others, Circumstances, Accidents, Injuries, Genocides, Tornadoes, Diseases, Pandemics—interesting way to think about it. Not to live in passivity and inaction, but to move forward in life with the grace of acceptance without the burden of bitterness. It’s another way of making peace with what is—dealing with life on life’s terms.

Rohr reflects: “Our first forgiveness is not toward a particular sin or offense. Our first forgiveness, it seems to me, is toward reality itself: to forgive it for being so broken, a mixture of good and bad. First that paradox has to be overcome inside of us. Then, when we allow God to hold together the opposites within us, it becomes possible to do it over there in our neighbor and even our enemy” (“Including Everything,” cac.org, August 31, 2017).

So, I think I need to pray, meditate, and contemplate some more. Take a walk in the woods. Be grateful I can still walk. Be grateful for frozen trails in cold winter woods in the Midwest. I love snow-filled, frozen trails in the winter. Thankful for breath and life. And at the same time, allow my heart and prayers to go out for my friend dying of cancer, for the family and friends whose loved one died because a tree fell on him, and for those who are suffering in Ukraine at this moment. I—no we—we can do this. Together. For each other. We are not alone.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Higher Power

Listen: “Higher Power” by Cold Play

Over the last three years, I have been exposed to the “Higher Power” approach to spirituality through my involvement with the twelve step recovery world. I have also been in dialogue with hundreds of people who have gone through doubts, questions, and deconstructions of their faith. I grew up in a Baptist Church, felt called to be a pastor at the age of sixteen, and ended up starting a non-denominational church in Kansas City in 1990 that grew to several thousand people. I have been a Jesus/Bible guy my whole life. 

In September of 2019, after my forty-year pastoral career had crashed and burned, I started connecting with the recovery community in Kansas City. I was feeling miserable and needed some loving, supportive community. I started attending several different therapy groups and twelve step groups, and after a few months, I met the CEO of the Welcome House, Jamie Boyle. Welcome House is a nine month residential treatment center located in the heart of Kansas City for men struggling with substance use disorders. Jamie asked me if I would teach a class called “Spirituality and Recovery.” I didn’t feel qualified. First of all, I had only been in the recovery community for a few short months. Secondly, I felt like my own faith had been shattered—I was full of doubts and questions about my own faith journey.

Jamie was quite certain that I was qualified and would do a good job. He wanted me to create a curriculum for the class, but he said I couldn’t use Jesus or the Bible as the basis for my class curriculum. I was like: “That’s my gig. That’s what I’ve done for forty years.” As we discussed this, I learned that Jamie was not anti-Jesus or anti-Bible. He was following the twelve step tradition of encouraging people to explore their own spiritual path or a God of their own understanding—A Higher Power.

Many people have misunderstood the reasoning behind this concept in the twelve step world which began with a few people in 1935. There are currently 123,00 Alcoholics Anonymous groups in 175 different countries, which does not include all the twelve step groups like Narcotics Anonymous and Gamblers Anonymous. According to the Big Book of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), about fifty percent of the people who come to AA are atheist or agnostic. Many of them have had extremely hurtful and even traumatic experiences with the church (Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox) or religion. If belief in Jesus, the Bible, or some set of religious dogma was required for admission, many alcoholics and addicts would reject the program and die from their substance use disorder.

The challenge for AA was: “How do we get a bunch of anti-authority, substance abusers to buy into a spiritual program?” I can imagine someone saying: “Let’s let them make up their own Higher Power, maybe that will work.” Make no mistake, the twelve step program is a spiritual program. All twelve steps are infused with spirituality, a Higher Power, and biblical wisdom. 

So how do you help agnostics and atheists and people of every faith tradition (like Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, etc.) find a spiritual path to sobriety without the rules and dogma of organized religions? One of the founders of AA, Bill Wilson, tells about his journey in his own words. Bill writes:

… The word “God” still aroused a certain antipathy. When the thought was expressed that there might be a God personal to me this feeling was intensified. I didn’t like the idea. I could go for such conceptions as Creative Intelligence, Universal Mind or Spirit of Nature but I resisted the thought of Czar of the Heavens, however loving His sway might be. I have since talked with scores of men who felt the same way

My friend suggested what then seemed a novel idea. He said, “Why don’t you choose your own conception of God?

That statement hit me hard. It melted the icy intellectual mountain in whose shadow I had lived and shivered many years. I stood in the sunlight at last.

 It was only a matter of being willing to believe in a Power greater than myself. Nothing more was required of me to make my beginning. I saw that growth could start from that point. (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 12, “Bill’s Story.”)

Some of you might panic at this point.  You might think: “How can somebody make up their own Higher Power? That’s not how it works!” Calm down. Take a deep breath. Drop your certainty, dogma, and judgment for a moment.

As a pastor for forty years (and still counting), I realized that people developed their belief systems (religious or otherwise) at a very young age in the homes in which they grew up. If the home life was strict, dysfunctional, or abusive, or if the home life was compassionate, loving, and permissive, either way, most people developed some belief systems about themselves, others, and God that were unhealthy. Almost everyone I have ever met has developed some dysfunctional belief systems along the way, myself included. And let’s be honest about it, religious systems have not always been helpful. Sometimes religious systems are dysfunctional and destructive. As a follower of Jesus, I have seen people do and say destructive things to other people in the name of Jesus, that are the opposite of Jesus. Religious systems suffer from the broken humanity of the people who built them. In rejecting religion, people are usually rejecting abuses they have experienced.

So what really happens when you give people permission to develop their own concept of God? I have heard the stories of hundreds of people going through this process, whether in the substance abuse community or the deconstruction community. They usually discard concepts of a mean, critical, punishing God—a God who behaves like an unpredictable, drunken, abusive father. It usually gives them permission to begin to relate to “something greater than themselves that is loving and caring.” It gives people the freedom to reimagine the Sacred Mystery of the Universe as something beautiful, creative, loving, forgiving, and caring. I haven’t come across someone yet who has reimagined a crueler, more pathological version of God.

Here’s a simple exercise. Sit down with a journal and write out your thoughts on the following questions. Don’t overthink it by being critical or judgmental of your own thoughts.

1. What distorted/dysfunctional concepts of God did you grow up with? List ten.

2. If there is a God or Universal Spirit, what would you want he/she/it to be like? List ten characteristics.

3. What’s hindering you from discarding dysfunctional concepts of God?

4. How would your spiritual life change if you embraced a new concept of God?

Many times, this simple approach to discarding unhealthy concepts of God, and reimagining a loving, caring God, helps people begin a new pathway to spirituality. In fact, as I think about it, there was a creative Rabbi in 1st Century Palestine who had a biting critique of the religious systems of his day and reimagined a radically grace-based concept of God. Maybe that’s why I still try to walk close enough to be covered in the dust of my Rabbi.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Creative Recovery—Neo’s Transformation

Listen: “Wake Up” (The Matrix) by Rage Against the Machine

Most of my life I did not view myself as a creative artist. I thought creativity was the domain of musicians, painters, poets, playwrights, novelists, fashion designers, and film directors. Doctors, pastors, teachers, and business leaders belonged to a more mundane, but important ilk. I was wrong. Creativity is rooted in spirituality. Everybody is spiritual. Everybody is creative.

I read a couple of books a few years ago that began to reshape my thinking around creativity. In 2012, Austin Kleon published a book called Steal Like an Artist: Ten Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative. I can’t remember how I stumbled across this book, but it not only helped me realized that I was creative; it helped me realize that I had been incredibly creative my whole life. The other book was Creativity, Inc. by Ed Catmull. Catmull was the founder of Pixar, and he unpacked his creative journey and his approach to building creative teams. I was already working with what I called a “creative team” to help me mash up Bible, pop culture, movies, personal stories, and music with my messages. It’s still puzzling to me why it took so long for me to realize that what flowed out of me was intensely creative.

By 2012 when I read Kleon’s book, I had earned a Bachelor of Arts degree, a Master of Divinity degree, and a Doctor of Ministry degree. I had been an avid outdoor enthusiast, a rock climber, a competitive cyclist, a fly fisherman, a backpacker, and a mountain biker. I had started a non-traditional, casual, rock and roll church with five people meeting in an apartment which had grown to several thousand people meeting in facilities. I had delivered thousands of messages as a public speaker remixing the Bible, theology, and business acumen with movie film clips, personal stories, and modern music. I had created small group Bible study series which were being used by thousands of people. I had built a team of over two thousand staff and volunteers (mostly volunteers) who were serving tens of thousands of people each year.

All of that, and I didn’t see myself as a creative type until I read Kleon’s book. So crazy. It’s like the veil lifted. I realized my love for creativity, adventure, and spirituality were all tied together. Recently, another veil lifted. I have grown to love recovery, and I have learned that recovery is also intricately connected to these practices—recovery, creativity, spirituality and adventure—they go together.

The connection of these concepts crystalized for me through the help of another book, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. Cameron’s book helped me realize that I am in a “creative recovery.” As many of you know, much of my life came crashing down three years ago (2018-2019). The losses in my life were so enormous that I felt like a piece of ant excrement buried under an anthill—“the horror, the horror” as Colonel Kurtz uttered at the end of Apocalypse Now. My most private, personal failures and sins had been broadcast by news sources in Kansas City, America, and religious news feeds around the world. Over the next couple of years, I felt utterly abandoned. Thank God for my immediate family, my true friends, and my new friends I found in recovery.

In September of 2019, I decided I needed to get my shit together, so I attended a twelve-step recovery group. I was miserable and buried in shame and darkness. For new readers, my collapse revolved around a thirty-year insomnia problem, a puzzling marriage problem, a 2-3 year prescription Xanax combined with alcohol problem (2017-2018), and a ministry burnout problem (2016-2018). All of which conspired to influence me to make some poor decisions which led to my enormous losses.

Recovery, I am learning, is a spiritual and creative journey. Even if you are not in need of recovery from drugs or alcohol, there is a good chance you will need to recover from other forms of substance or behavioral distress or addiction in your life—things like unhealthy relationships, career failure, divorce, self-pity, parental crises, narcissism, OCD behaviors, eating disorders, broken dreams, and shattered faith. All recoveries can be seen as “creative recoveries.” I have grown to love the recovery community. I love the foundational, spiritual principles of rigorous honesty, humility, vulnerability, responsibility, and community. Recovery is a journey in what I call “Naked Spirituality” (https://spiritualityadventures.com/blog/naked-spirituality).It is also a journey in “Creative Recovery.”

Julia Cameron first published The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity in 1992. I am a little chagrined to have only recently stumbled upon Julia’s book (thanks to the recommendation of Dr. Kathleen Keenan). Come to find out, Cameron has been most influential in helping unblock creativity in the lives of millions for the better part of three decades. She has influenced people like Martin Scorsese, Anne Lamott, Alicia Keyes, Pete Townsend, and Russell Brand. Elizabeth Gilbert said, “Without The Artist’s Way, there would have been no Eat, Pray, Love.” The amazing thing to me about Cameron’s book is that she has taken spiritual principles from the twelve step recovery world and applied them to blocked, creative artists. Julia is passionate about the idea that everyone is creative, and that nurturing your inner, creative artist is a spiritual path of recovery to finding and expressing your true creative self.

In this new season of life, Cameron’s book has helped me realize that I can take all the pain, all the sorrow, all the shame, and all the humiliation and combine that with my previous history of education, outdoor adventure, community building, entrepreneurship, public speaking, and leadership and emerge in a new, fresh “creative recovery.” This gives me hope.

I am a huge fan of The Matrix Trilogy (and I haven’t even seen the new Matrix Resurrections). Over the course of my recovery, I have had a scene in my mind from the original movie in which Neo is transformed into his true self—The One—as Morpheus liked to say. The original 1999 The Matrix has many pause-worthy moments, but the best one in my mind is when Neo finally becomes “The One” towards the end of the movie. In the final act, Neo (played by Keanu Reeves) stops bullets midair, kicks Agent Smith down the hallway, and then explodes Agent Smith from the inside out. Prior to this moment, Neo is nearly dead after he is shot by the Agents. After Trinity kisses him, Neo revives from death, the computers on the Nebuchadnezzar go haywire, and Morpheus declares, “He is the one.” In his earlier battles with the Agents, Neo was beaten many times and barely escaped with his life. Now, in the moment of his worst defeat, Neo seems to absorb and transform all of his previous pain, doubt, and defeat and find his true self.

Through the last three humiliating and challenging years of my life, I am still committed:

1. To walking the high road by taking care of my side of the street, making amends, and forgiving myself and others;

2. To learning and growing spiritually and creatively;

3. To remixing and mashing up all that I have become;

4. To sharing, caring, serving, and pastoring others;

5. To absorbing all the pain and lessons through which I have gone.

Hopefully, I will emerge, like Neo, transformed as my true, creative self. The scene in The Matrix reminds me of the cross upon which Jesus died. The cross was not always seen as a symbol of hope by many. The cross was the cruelest form of torture and shame invented by the ancient Near Eastern world. No one would have cherished the cross or would have wanted jewelry and tattoos of it. Yet, Jesus’ sacrificial love transformed the cross into a symbol of hope. Pain, suffering, defeat, cruelty, injustice, sin, and shame are transformed into forgiveness, new creation, creativity, recovery, and spiritual hope.

There are still times when I feel like I want to give up, like I want to give in. This is my crime. This is my sin. But I still believe (a nod to The Call and Michael Been).

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Punching a Bear In the Nose: Thoughts on Courage

Listen: “Dare You to Move” by Switchfoot

In a previous blog Count it All Joy, I ended with a cliff hanger: “By the way, on that backpacking trip into the Wind River Range, Randy and I did have an encounter with a grizzly bear, and I did punch the bear in the nose. (No lie. Ask Randy.) But that’s a story for another time.”

 This is the time. Here’s the story. After Randy and I read all the instructions on what to do if you have a grizzly bear encounter, we backpacked up into the high lakes of the Wind River Range. We set up our base camp at Willow Lake (if memory serves me well). From Willow Lake we would do day hikes for fishing and rock climbing trips.

 When we set up the base camp, we took all the appropriate precautions to protect ourselves from a grizzly bear invasion into our base camp. The standard practices for lightweight backpackers are: (1) we picked a base camp about fifty yards away from the lake; (2) we set the fire pit about fifty yards away from the tent; and (3) we stored our food and the clothes in which we cooked and ate in a hanging bear bag (hanging the bag in a tree 200 feet away from the tent and 15 feet above the ground on a sturdy branch).

 The first night we cooked some trout we caught in the lake over the fire. We would put a single trout in foil with a few onions, potatoes, carrots, lemon pepper, and butter and throw it on the coals—a true high mountain feast. After eating and an evening fire chat, we changed into fresh smelling sleeping clothes (the sent of the fish, fire and food absorbs into the clothes and attracts bears) and retired into the two-man backpacking tent for sleep. I didn’t think about how the fish and food smells might absorb into my hair.

 I did have some forewarning, however. As Randy and I were standing around the campfire after eating fish, an owl swooped down and tried to grab my head. We were both surprised by the owl’s behavior. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I must have rubbed my hair with fishy hands during mealtime. 

 After we retired into the tent, we both fell asleep quickly and at some point in the middle of the night, I was half-awakened by the sound of something sniffing my head on the outside of the tent. I was half-asleep, and I immediately thought it was a raccoon or some small creature smelling my hair. I doubled up my fist and in a sleepy haze I swung my fist backwards to hit the little creature in the nose and scare it away. My fist landed on a soft but heavy surface. The creature didn’t move. My fist landed a punch to the nose of a grizzly bear.

 My adrenaline immediately spiked and I was wide awake realizing I had hit a bear in the nose. I didn’t scream. I didn’t jump up. I laid in my sleeping bag as still as possible, my adrenaline pumping full blast. I thought the bear might rip through the tent and attack us. I had a buck knife by my side: no bear spray, no gun. I knew the knife wouldn’t help, but it was all I had.

 The bear didn’t move either. It remained completely still and silent. After a few moments, I reached over and nudged Randy. I woke him up, and I whispered—probably should have shouted, but I was scared and in way over my head—“Randy, there’s a bear!” I whispered with as much force and fear as I could convey in a whisper. I got the point across. Randy was now wide awake, and he remained silent as well. After I woke Randy up, the bear decided to move away from the tent instead of attacking us. We were sleeping on the ground. As the bear moved away, we could feel the earth vibrate underneath us.

 A few years later, when I was watching the Jurassic Park scene where the water in the cup vibrates in the Ford Explorer dashboard, I thought—that’s the vibration of a huge animal like the grizzly, but bigger. The ground vibrated! With each step the bear took away from the tent, the ground vibrated. We remained in silence. Finally, after what felt like eternity, the bear moved far enough away for us to relax. Next morning, we checked the prints on the ground, and it definitely fit the size and shape of a grizzly footprint.

 After the bear left, I told Randy what happened. He was the one that said, “You punched a grizzly bear in the nose.” I’m the one that changed my underwear and pants. Not so courageous and brave after all.

 And yet, courage is a lot like that. Courage doesn’t always feel like we think it should feel. Courage can look and feel incredibly weak. Courage can be:

(1)   Admitting we are powerless over a destructive habit or relationship and surrendering to our Higher Power;

(2)  Pursuing a dream even though we fear failure;

(3)  Showing up in the world as our true self—darkness and light, flaws and strengths, failures and successes;

(4)  Making amends to those we have harmed;

(5)  Learning and growing after an enormous setback or failure;

(6)  Forgiving and loving again in the aftermath of great hurt;

(7)  Embracing vulnerability as a pathway towards healing shame;

(8)  Working for justice and a better world in the face of criticism;

(9)  Building bridges when most people want to construct walls.

 Ask heroes what courage feels like and you usually get a surprising answer. Brené  Brown borrowed a phrase from a speech given by Theodore Roosevelt for her best selling book, Daring Greatly. I love her book on vulnerability and shame, and I love the quote from Roosevelt. I often quoted it in messages:

 It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly….” (“Citizenship in a Republic” April 23, 1910)

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

The Great Reimagination

Listen: “Sailing” by Christopher Cross

Three words have described the work landscape of America during this season of pandemic—“The Great Resignation.” During an interview with Bloomberg, an organizational psychologist and professor at Texas A&M University, Anthony Klotz, coined the phrase in May of 2021. He was describing the the wave of people quitting their jobs (a record 4.5 million by November 2021) due to the coronavirus pandemic causing many people to re-think where, how, and why they work.

Even without a pandemic, adults frequently go through various kinds of life crises, just not so many all at the same time for the same reason. A great deal of literature has been written on the developmental stages of adulthood. I remember reading a book by Daniel Levinson in my forties entitled The Seasons of a Man’s Life. I was dealing with what I thought might be some sort of mid-life crisis, and I was searching for some wisdom. Levinson’s book led me to New Passages by Gail Sheehy. We have developed language around how crises can shape adult development—quarter-life, mid-life, three-quarter life crises—but rarely have we seen so many people go through a work crisis all at the same time in America. It’s usually a war, not a pandemic, that reshapes the work landscape of America so dramatically all at once.

The conversations around this national crisis can serve as metaphors for our personal crises. There are always adults in America going through various types of crises at any given moment—work crises, health crises, marriage crises, family crises, financial crises, faith crises, community crises—and how we navigate these crises determines how we show up in the world for ourselves, our families, and our communities. Does a great life crises become a great season of darkness leading to despair and decline? Or does a great life crises become a great season of darkness leading to growth and renewal? Or to put it pandemically: Does “The Great Resignation” turn into a season of “The Great Reset” or “The Great Reimagination”?

Over the last three years, I have been pondering my own personal three-quarter life crises—which peaked during a 120 day stint in rehab in Georgia (end of 2018-2019), during which time I lost my forty year career, my thirty-seven year marriage, my twenty-nine year community, and my forty-three year faith. That’s how it felt. Now my life in recovery has merged into this weird landscape of living through a pandemic. I’ve asked myself the question: Will “The Great Reset” of my life turn into “The Great Recovery” or “The Great Reimagination”?

Perhaps you’ve wondered about something similar in your own life recently. I’m guessing you have, at least some of you. It’s a scary question. It’s like asking yourself if you will survive. “Will I recover? Will I ever thrive again? Will I find new work, new hope, new meaning, new faith, new community, new love? Will I find my true self in this crisis or will I always be wearing a mask?”

There are so many things we can’t foresee, so many things we can’t control, and so many things we don’t anticipate. As I was writing this blog at the end of January 2022 and reflecting backwards, I thought of all the things in my life I didn’t anticipate. I didn’t anticipate a three-quarter life crises. I didn’t anticipate living in financial fear. I didn’t anticipate feeling abandoned. I didn’t anticipate struggling to hang on to faith and belief. I didn’t anticipate feeling such intense anger at myself, anger at God, anger at emotional pain, and anger at life. I never anticipated that my recovery—emotionally, relationally, vocationally, financially—would take so long (three years and counting). I didn’t anticipate the slow, sometimes agonizing process of recovery. I didn’t anticipate what it feels like to meet with over one thousand people I love, face-to-face, and ask them to forgive me. I didn’t anticipate starting a new nonprofit called Spirituality Adventures at this stage in life. You get the picture. I didn’t anticipate a season of personal crisis of pandemic proportions!

So how do we/I respond? I was recently listening to a podcast in which Jonathan Fields was interviewing Parker Palmer on his podcast called the “Good Life Project.” Palmer (an author, activist, spiritual director) was sharing some of his own journey through darkness and light over the course of his eighty-one years on planet earth. He was talking about two parts to our spiritual journey: (1) our interior life and what we put out to the world; and (2) our exterior life and what the world throws back at us. Crises emerge at this intersection, and it’s also where we find our purpose or calling. These “intersectional crises” can potentially lead to new growth. We need to find and access two resources for spiritual growth that leads to a “Great Reimagining.”

Finding true community. By community, I mean friends, family, and networks of people with which we do life—deep, authentic life. Honesty and vulnerability are the foundations for rich and deep community. Palmer says that we all need “sorting and sifting in a community that knows how to listen, that knows how to ask you honest and open questions, that does not attempt to save, fix, advise, or correct you; but simply lets you work it out in dialogue with other people.” This kind of community is rare, but possible. It’s something we all need. Palmer quotes theologian, activist Nelle Morton: “Out task in this time is to help hear other people into deeper and deeper speech.”

Finding our true self. By true self, I mean every part of our personhood—worst and best, shadow and light—which all together form our real, authentic self. Palmer reflects on the importance of finding our true self through the lens of his own mortality. In Palmer’s mind, the saddest way to die would be to not ever have shown up in the world as your true self. To come to the end of your life and say: “I had all these years on the face of the earth, but I never showed up as my true self. I always hid it away because I was fearful of what other people might think; and therefore, I was always playing my cards close to my vest and not sharing my gifts. I never showed up as my true self.” One aspect of our gift to the world is showing up as our true self—talents, gifts, joys, pains, darkness, and light. Even our suffering and pain can be a gift if shared with others wisely.

 Small community groups. I am in the process of starting small, in-person community groups for the purpose of spiritual growth. If you live in Kansas City and you are interested in being a part of a small community group, please respond by email. I am building my support team through small community groups. I will meet with you in person to discuss this opportunity. Hope to see you soon.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Creativity and Spirituality

Listen: “Dreamweaver” by Gary Wright

Where does God come from? As a pastor I was asked this question by young children who genuinely wondered about the origins of everything. If God created everything, where did God come from? It’s a perplexing question. One that I never felt I answered adequately. “Well Timmy, God has always existed.” And that never seemed to satisfy the child or me, but I didn’t have a better answer. (And believe me, I’ve searched!)

I’ve imagined myself as an atheist evolutionist raising my children on The Big Bang model. According to Sean Carroll: “The Big Bang itself, as predicted by general relativity, is a moment in time, not a location in space. It would not be an explosion of matter into an empty, preexisting void; it would be the beginning of the entire universe, with matter smoothly distributed all throughout space, all at once.” He goes on to say: “It would be the moment prior to which there were no moments: no space, no time….But the Bang itself is a mystery. We shouldn’t think of it as ‘the singularity at the beginning of time’; it’s a label for a moment in time that we currently don’t understand” (The Big Picture, p. 51). I can still imagine my child asking a similar question: Where does matter come from? “Well Johnny, matter has always existed. 

Why is there something rather than nothing? Christian theologians (as well as Jewish and Muslim theologians) have taught for centuries that God created the world freely out of nothing (ex nihilo; Latin)—from no pre-existent matter, space, or time. But does the Bible teach this idea explicitly? I’m not sure it does.

The first two verses of the creation story in Genesis are fascinating. Volumes of commentary have been written on them throughout history. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (verse one). The second verse describes the chaotic state of “matter,” “primordial gods,” “primordial chaos,” or “something.” Even expert theologians ponder verse two.  Verse two is describing “something” not “nothing.”

Listen to verse one and two: “When God began to create heaven and earth, and the earth then was welter and waste and darkness over the deep and God’s breath hovering over the waters, God said, ‘Let there be light’” (Genesis 1:1-2; The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary, by Robert Alter). The earth was “formless and void” (welter and waste) and darkness was over the deep (possibly a primordial god) and God’s spirit/breath hovered over the waters (possibly a primordial god). So the creation story begins with God bringing expansion and order to the primordial chaos. This primordial chaos isn’t said to be evil; it is simply the worldview of ancient Near Eastern peoples. (See Genesis: The NIV Application Commentary by John Walton.)

Creation out of something? Where does God come from? Where does matter come from? Where does “something” come from? It’s a perplexing question. We don’t have a good answer. It’s a mystery, but creativity is at the heart of God, or at the heart of the Universe, if you are uncomfortable with God talk. The Universe and matter burst forth with creative energy. Evolution is adaptive, creative energy. God’s spirit hovers over the deep, dark chaos of the earth and the waters, and Spoken Words begin to shape and order the heavens and the earth. The creation story of Genesis is written in elevated poetic prose. It’s like God is using song or spoken poetry to create order out of chaos. Or to bring something new and fresh out of something. The way God shapes, expands, and orders primordial chaos is a creative remix of something.

Why is this important? Creativity is at the heart of the Universe. You have been created by God or the Universe, and the spirit of God is hovering over the very molecules of the star dust from which your body and mind are derived. You are an explosion of life and creativity. Your spirituality is at its zenith when you are creating, remixing, teaching, building, writing, painting, dreaming, hiking, loving, singing, rapping, healing, praying, and even responding to pain and suffering with creative love and adaptation. You were made with and for creativity.

Most people don’t think they are very creative. Creativity, we tell ourselves, is reserved for painters, singers, novelist, and actors. One of my favorite books on stoking our creative juices is by Austin Kleon called Steal Like An Artist. His primary thesis is that nothing is original. Everything comes from something. Kleon says, “What a good artist understands is that nothing comes from nowhere. All creative work builds on what came before. Nothing is completely original….Every new idea is just a mashup or a remix of one or more previous ideas” (p. 7, 9).

Kleon quotes Jim Jarmusch (film director, screenwriter, actor, producer, editor, and composer):

Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic.”

You are utterly unique. What you learn, what you experience, and what you create are a unique and creative expression of your spirituality. Your spirituality is how you connect with yourself, others, and something greater than you. Creativity and spirituality are the same stream of life.

Creativity is the flow of the Universe, the Creator, and life itself. When we are blocked creatively, we are blocked spiritually. In The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (a book which has inspired artists like Elizabeth Gilbert, Anne Lamott, and Martin Scorsese), Cameron writes: “When we open ourselves to our creativity, we open ourselves to the creator’s creativity within us and our lives. We are , ourselves, creations. And we, in turn, are meant to continue creativity by being creative ourselves” (p. 3).

Spirituality Adventures is a nonprofit I have started to ignite spiritual growth and transformation. I could have called it “Creativity Adventures” and meant the same thing. It’s living life with a focus on beauty, love, generosity, grace, gratitude, and creativity. So have some fun. Discover and lean into what you love, what makes you sing,  and on what you wax eloquently. Grow with it. Remix it. Create with it. According to The Talmud, “Every blade of grass has its Angel that bends over it and whispers, “Grow, grow.”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Count It All Joy

Listen: “Rain” by Grandson (with Jessie Reyes)

Every summer for a couple of decades, I would go on a backpacking trip to the Rocky Mountains of North America with one of my closest friends, Randy Kroening. Randy and I met as potluck roommates our freshman year at Baylor University. We would hike heavy backpacks into the high mountains, far away from people, for a week of fishing, climbing, and hiking. We started doing these trips in 1980 and continued them most summers until about 2010 when we started opting for easier accommodations and day hikes. We have backpacked all over the Colorado Rockies, The Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho, and The Bitterroot Mountains of Montana.

 One summer we decided to backpack in the Wind River Range in Wyoming. When we parked our vehicle at the trailhead to begin our journey into the high mountains, we noticed a warning. Grizzly bears had started migrating into the Wind River Range from the North. Ranchers were starting to have encounters with grizzly bears in the mountains, and occasionally a grizzly bear would feast on some of their cattle.

 A word about bears for non-mountaineers: Most of the mountain backcountry we have hiked have bears—black bears. Black bears are rarely dangerous in the high mountains. They are very elusive. They avoid people. Unless you cornered a momma bear with her cubs, a black bear is going to run away from you. Grizzly bears are a different breed. They can be aggressive and dangerous. Many grizzly bear encounters have resulted in death for the humans. I have read a few books on grizzly bear encounters (long before The Revenant movie came out), and I determined I didn’t want to encounter a grizzly.

 The grizzly bear warning at the trailhead gave us a few recommendations in case we did encounter a grizzly: (1) don’t run; (2) don’t stare the grizzly in the eyes; (3) if the bear charges at you, don’t run because many times they do a mock charge and run past you; and (4) if the grizzly does attack you, lie on the ground in the fetal position and cover your head and vital organs as best you can. Many times they will just knock you around on the ground and then leave you alone.

 As I was reading these instructions, I was thinking about how utterly counterintuitive the instructions were. First of all, if I see a grizzly bear, my first instinct is to run! All I have to do is run faster than Randy! (Just a joke Randy, kind of.) Secondly, there is no way in hell I am going to get into a starring match with a grizzly. Thirdly, if a grizzly charges me and if I don’t sh*t my pants, I’m running. I’ll take my chances. Fourthly, if I do get attacked then I probably will get in the fetal position and cry for my momma. This one makes sense to me!

 Sometimes what’s good and wise for us is counterintuitive. Our fight-flight-freeze response is not always the best response in certain life situations. I think this is true for certain types of pain, particularly emotional pain. I have a love-hate relationship with some words of advice as it relates to  emotional pain. Let me give you some examples.

 I was recently reading a book (thanks to a recommendation by Dr. Kathleen Keenan) entitled The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. Cameron’s book is a guide for unblocking our creative self and growing in creativity and spirituality. Cameron says: “To effect a creative recovery, we must undergo a time of mourning. Our tears prepare the ground for our future growth. Without this creative moistening, we may remain barren. We must allow the bolt of pain to strike us. Remember, this is useful pain; lightning illuminates” (p. 7).

 Another book I was reading a couple of years ago by Patrick Carnes is called A Gentle Path through the Twelve Steps: A Classic Guide for All People in the Process of Recovery. In one section entitled “Accept Pain as a Teacher,” Carnes reflects on how we all experience suffering and try to make sense of it, figure out what caused it, and even determine how we can fight against it. Carnes concludes that the most important approach is seeing suffering as a teacher: “Suffering simply is. It’s not fair, right, or wrong. It simply is. However, how I respond is critical. How I take action, how I grow, and how I become a more spiritual person is the most important thing.” Carnes cites Viktor Frankl’s insights on Nazi concentration camp survivors—they all shared the ability to transform suffering into meaning.

 There is a classic passage in the Bible from which I have taught for decades. It gives some advice for how to handle trials and suffering that I find very counterintuitive. In fact, every time I have taught on this passage, I always start with the advice for a grizzly bear encounter because it heightens the counterintuitive drama of this passage. It’s found in the New Testament book of James. “Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing” (James 1:2-4; NLT). “Perfect and complete” in this passage is not perfection as Americans conceive of it. It’s more about the concept of maturity, authenticity, and wholeness—progress not perfection.

 Is there anything more counterintuitive than responding to suffering, pain, and difficulty with joy? I don’t know about you but my impulse is to run or fight. Isn’t “joy” a little over-the-top for a response to disappointment, failure, or even tragedy. How about this response: “Life sucks. I must suck. People suck. But I guess I better learn something lest I turn into a grumpy, bitter, old fart.” That’s seems more in touch with reality—not so dramatically counterintuitive.

 But, maybe, if we “break on through to the other side” in the words of Jim Morrison, maybe, there is joy in the growth. Joy in the moment. Joy in being fully present and grateful in the moment. Breathing in the breath of life. The magnificent mystery of life on this planet. And if we grow, share the love, and connect with other fellow travelers, then maybe we find ourselves in the company of grateful, creative, spirit-drenched, lovers of life and the universe. I’m all in for that.

 By the way, on that backpacking trip into the Wind River Range, Randy and I did have an encounter with a grizzly bear, and I did punch the bear in the nose. (No lie. Ask Randy.) But that’s a story for another blog.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Sacred Mystery of the Universe

Listen: “She’s A Mystery To Me” by U2

Where do you find the mystery in life? I think I can honestly say that I have loved God, loved people, and loved nature my entire conscious life. I also find all three to be incredibly mysterious. Over the last three years of my life, I have journeyed through the darkness of a three-quarter life crisis, felt abandoned at times by a few old friends, community, and God, wrestled with shame and self-hatred, and found new friends and community in the process of healing and recovery. I even felt like an atheist at times during this recent journey or found myself raging against God if he/she/it did exist. I knew I wasn’t an atheist, but I felt and thought that way at times. Through this journey, the mystery of God, people, and nature has increased for me. I find beauty in mystery. I like to bow in awe and humility before mystery.

By mystery, I simply mean things we can’t explain. Things that are beyond the scope of human knowledge. Since the beginning of human consciousness, humans have tried to explain and give meaning to the things we don’t understand. Prior to the modern scientific era, all tribes and peoples subscribed to a supernatural worldview. Most of the stories and myths that were created by people in the ancient civilizations were supernatural in orientation (containing gods, angels, demons, ghosts, and spirit animals). Atheists were in an extreme minority in the ancient world. In the modern world, it’s estimated that 7-10% of the population on earth subscribes to atheism. In the ancient world, it would have been far, far less.

The mystery of God. I remember talking to someone recently and they told me they don’t think about God that much. I laughed and said, “I have thought about God and prayed to God every day of my life for over forty years. I think about God morning, noon, and night. I have earned bachelors, masters, and doctoral degrees in theology (thoughts about God).” I have studied all the major faith traditions from monotheism, to polytheism, to pantheism. Regardless of your conception of God (or Higher Power), you always bump into mystery at some point. For example, in the Protestant tradition of Christianity a group emerged in the seventeenth century called Calvinists (named after John Calvin). Calvinists developed a rational, systematic theology from scripture around the sovereignty of God. God is ultimately in charge of everything that happens in the Universe. In the experience of evil, tragedy, and suffering, God is still in charge, even to the point of predetermining all things for his own glory. The mystery is in believing that God is still just, loving, and gracious and powerfully in charge of all things. It’s beyond the human capacity to understand the ways of God—His ways are higher than our ways—so you have to trust in God even though you don’t understand all the ways of God. I could draw examples from every faith tradition. One of the thorniest mysteries for all faith traditions is the problem of evil and suffering. Siddhattha Gotama (Buddha) famously wrestled with the issue of suffering and came to some fascinating conclusions about the illusory nature of suffering. In the end, after centuries of thoughts and volumes of books, even the answers lead to mystery.

The mystery of people. I could include people within the mystery of nature, but, even from an evolutionary perspective, humans are unique in their ability to create written languages and complex civilizations, and to reflect deeply on their own existence in the Universe. (See the discussion on “The Cognitive Revolution” by Yuval Noah Harari in Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind.) Several faith traditions would say humans are unique because they are created in the image of God. Theistic evolutionists might even agree with this idea. Even atheist evolutionists still marvel at the unique nature of human beings. Theoretical physicist Sean Carroll says, “If there is any one aspect of reality that causes people to doubt a purely physical and naturalist conception of the world, it’s the existence of consciousness.” (See the discussion on “Thinking” by Sean Carroll in The Big Picture: On the Origins of Life, Meaning, and the Universe Itself.) From modern psychological perspectives, humans remain a mystery. From the development of psychoanalysis to cognitive behavioral therapy, humans have sought to understand themselves. How do we achieve mental health and optimal living on this planet in relationship to ourselves, others, and God? Are the mental and relational health problems we encounter as human beings the result of nature or nurture? Can we find the source of our problems within interruptions of childhood development and nurture? (There are many tests which evaluate adverse childhood experiences and the impact on mental and relational health.) Or can we find the source of our problems within the genetics and small molecules in our bodies? Neuroscientist David Eagleman has shown how biological changes in the brain can dramatically alter our personalities and, in effect, make us different people. Eagleman says, “So we see that the invisibly small molecules we call narcotics, neurotransmitters, hormones, viruses, and genes can place their little hands on the steering wheel of our behavior.” Eagleman concludes: “If there’s something like a soul, it is at minimum tangled irreversibly with microscopic details” (Incognito, p. 209). Suffice it to say, even the best psychologists and neuroscientists in the world find humans to be wildly mysterious.

The mystery of nature. Nature can be exceptionally, spectacularly beautiful. Whether you are gazing out at the Universe and pondering the planets, stars, and galaxies or watching honey bees build a colony with a single queen, hundreds of male drones, and 20,000 to 80,000 female worker bees, nature is endlessly fascinating and beautiful. Nature can also be exceptionally, brutally vicious. Whether you are watching a video of a Nile crocodile devour a gazelle or witnessing the devastation of hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes, nature is endlessly cruel and ugly. It’s no surprise that when ancient peoples tried to figure out nature through a supernatural worldview they came up with mythological gods who behaved like nature and behaved like human beings. Some gods were incredibly benevolent and some were incredibly cruel. Nature, and the existence of life on this “third rock from the sun,” is a marvelous mystery.

The sacred mystery of the universe. Life is extraordinary, if not sacred. I believe life is sacred and mysterious. Whether you are a theist, a monotheist, a polytheist, a pantheist, or an atheist, life is a majestic mystery before which we stand in awe. I am reminded of the conclusion of neuroscientist David Eagelman’s thoughts at the end of his book, Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain:

 Imagine for a moment that we are nothing but the product of billions of years of molecules coming together and ratcheting up through natural selection, that we are composed only of highways of fluids and chemicals sliding along roadways within billions of dancing cells, that trillions of synaptic conversations hum in parallel, that this vast egg like fabric of micron-thin circuitry runs algorithms undreamt of in modern science, and that these neural programs give rise to our decision making, loves, desires, fears, and aspirations. To me, that would be a numinous experience, better than anything ever proposed in anyone’s holy texts (p. 224).

I find myself wanting to worship and bow before the mystery in awe and wonder. I have spent over forty years pondering life, studying scriptures, reading voraciously, and helping people navigate the mystery of God, human relationships, and nature itself. Sometimes its helpful to make it simple through prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

(Prayer of St Francis)

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Setting Goals and Managing Expectations

Listen: “These Dreams” by Heart

“Pursue your dreams” is an American mantra. “Expectations are premeditated resentments” is a slogan which apparently originated in the 12-step programs. Is it possible to follow your dreams without having any expectations? How do we manage the potential joys and possible dangers of these two modern day proverbs?

 As we enter into the New Year of 2022, with Covid still raging, how do we set realistic goals and pursue our dreams, without crashing on the rocks of unfulfilled expectations? In recent years, goal-setting at the beginning of the New Year seems to have fallen out of vogue. Too many people have set unrealistic goals only to crash and burn by the end of February. Why set goals if you are only going to fail? For some, they have decided to stop setting goals in order to avoid self-condemnation for failing to achieve the goals they themselves set. No goals. No disappointments. So the reasoning goes. But is this how the human heart works? Does living without dreams, hopes, goals, and expectations have its own unique brand of disappointments?

 I have always been a planner, a goal setter, and a visionary leader with a strategic three to five year plan. In fact, early on in my pastoral career after I had earned a BA from Baylor with a double major in Business and Religion and a MDiv from Southwestern Seminary, I decided to study leadership and organizational development at Fuller Seminary where I earned a DMin. I started a church in 1990 in Kansas City and implemented strategic plans which resulted in the church growing every year for twenty-eight years to one of the largest churches in Kansas City and one of the fastest-growing churches in America.

 Needless to say, all that changed when I went through a three-quarter life crisis. Strategic plans went out the window, losses piled up, and, in the aftermath of public humiliation, I found myself trying to navigate “post-apocalyptic” living in the wasteland of my new existence. New dreams have been slow to emerge, self-confidence feels like it’s on a ventilator, and shame keeps trying to tag along for the ride.

 Yet, as I live and breath, dreams percolate. New hopes begin to blossom. Strategic plans start to emerge. So here are a few thoughts about goals and expectations as we enter a New Year.

 One day at a time. All goals, even long-term goals, need to be broken down into daily action plans. For those in recovery, it is especially important to build daily routines that support sobriety. But this is true for everyone when it comes to accomplishing long-term goals. It’s one day at a time.

 Goals tied to becoming. Think in terms of being, doing, and having. Americans like to focus on having more stuff. I think goal setting should holistically include relational, spiritual, emotional, physical, and vocational aspects of our life. Daily journaling, walking, meditating, breathing, and reading are worthy goals.

 Goals tied to community. Many times even personal goals are best accomplished in community. I highly recommend support groups and small groups for exercise, spiritual growth, emotional health, and sobriety. Build vital relationships around the goals that are most important to you. We all grow better together.

 SMART goals. All goals are not created equal. SMART goals offer a simple guideline for quality goals. Quality goals are: Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Time-sensitive. 

 Killer expectations. Sometimes people set goals or embrace expectations which are merely wishful or magical thinking. Sometimes they have unspoken expectations in other people over which they have no control and to whom they have never communicated. Some goals like family or organizational goals are accomplished only through a process of team building and obtaining goal ownership. So it is easy to see how free-floating, unspoken expectations can simply be “resentments under construction” (borrowing a phrase from Anne Lamott).

 There is a verse in the Hebrew Bible that I have always liked: “A noble person makes noble plans and by their noble deeds they stand” (Isaiah 32:8; translation mine). Good planning and good living are noble adventures, full of ups and downs, twists and turns. May you have a blessed New Year, and in the words of Up character Charles Muntz, “Adventure is out there!”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Blog Readers 2021—Thank You!

This is my last blog for 2021, and during this holiday season I wanted to take a quick moment and thank you for reading my blogs which are posted with Spirituality Adventures. I have been posting a blog every week for just over one year so we now have over fifty blogs published. Some of you have read every blog I have posted! Thank you! Some of you have read one or more my blogs and made comments. Thank you! It’s a labor of love each week to write a blog. I write it, have it proof read, rewrite it, and then publish it Sunday nights through email and Monday mornings through social media. One new reader shared with me that he went back and read all my blogs and loved them. I’m so grateful.

I am new to the blogging world so I am learning all the time. Here are a few ways you can help if you like what you read:

1.     Share the blog with your friends, family, and social media connections.

2.     Make comments on social media.

3.     Go back and read blogs you missed and share the ones you like.

4.     Consider supporting the blog with monthly financial support. We have a very small but faithful team of monthly supporters. Monthly supporters receive bonus content, so check that out. For example, I do an eighteen minute audio blog commentary on every blog I write. It’s a personal glimpse into my thoughts and feelings behind the blog.

5.     Make private comments by replying to the email.

 I just wanted to thank you for reading! Have a great holiday and New Year!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Magi—Non-Christian Followers of Jesus

Listen: “Jesus is Just Alright” by The Doobie Brothers

There are people all over the world who follow Jesus but don’t call themselves Christians—perhaps a billion or more. This is sometimes surprising to Christians, and even disconcerting to some Christians. Christians like to think that they own Jesus, especially Western Christians. I have friends and acquaintances who call themselves Muslim followers of Jesus, Buddhist followers of Jesus, Hindu followers of Jesus, and Native American followers of Jesus. I’ve even met a few people who call themselves agnostic followers of Jesus.

 While this might be alarming to some Christians, it is solidly grounded in scripture and in the birth narrative of Matthew’s Christmas story. The term “Christian” did not come into use until after the death and resurrection of Jesus. The Twelve Disciples of Jesus would not have called themselves “Christians.” (See Acts 11:26.) The Twelve Disciples were Jewish followers of Jesus.

 The Magi in Matthew’s gospel were not Jewish, and there is no evidence that they ever became Christians. Magi were magicians and sorcerers in the ancient Near Eastern world. They were known for their priestly wisdom and expertise in interpreting dreams, oriental wisdom, reading signs, and astrology—“The Wise Men.”

 The wise men (magi) who visited baby Jesus were “from the East.” This brief description has led commentators to speculate about their origin. The best guesses are that the Magi were from ancient Arabia, Babylon, or Persia; however, its in the realm of possibility that they were from the ancient Far East (India or China). Commentators also speculate about their religious orientation. The most popular guess is Zoroastrianism, but they could have also been polytheists or even influenced by Far East religions like Hinduism, Buddhism, or Taoism. Suffice it to say, they were definitely not Jewish.

 Despite their non-Jewish background, the Magi are presented in Matthew’s gospel as devoted followers of Jesus. In fact, Matthew is most likely presenting the Magi as echoes of the gentile prophet Balaam in the Torah who prophesied about the coming Messiah as “a star who will rise from Jacob” (Numbers 24:17). There are many stories in scripture where the “outsider” or “anti-hero” becomes the example for true love, devotion, and heartfelt worship (like Balaam, Ruth, the Magi, and the Good Samaritan).

 In Matthew’s gospel, the magicians and sorcerers “from the East” set the pattern for authentic devotion and worship—what we (today) might call the true “spirit of Christmas.” The Magi are excellent examples of “surrender to a Higher Power” to borrow language from the recovery world. They display three acts of devotion from which we can all learn.

 The Magi recognize God’s special presence in the world and respond with joy and devotion. The Magi recognized that God was doing something special in the world through the unusual star over Bethlehem. (It was possibly a comet. See the excellent research in The Great Christ Comet by Colin R. Nicholl.) Matthew says, “When they saw the star, they were filled with joy” (Matthew 2:10). I think we need to recognize God’s special presence in creation, in nature, in circumstances, and in people. We need to have eyes to see and ears to hear what God is doing around us. It’s important to practice tuning into beauty, love, grace, and creativity. 

 The Magi humbly bow and worship before the mystery of God’s presence. When the Magi arrived Matthew says, “They entered the house and saw the child with his mother, Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him” (Matthew 2:11). The Magi recognized God’s special presence in the baby Jesus. Astrologers like the Magi believed that a special or unique star (like a comet or meteor shower) in the sky was a sign that a special person with special significance in history was being born. They followed the star and bowed before Jesus like they would bow before a king. It was an act of worship to bow before the mystery of God’s special presence in the world through Jesus. Humility and surrender before God (Higher Power) are hallmarks for recovery from the brokenness of our lives and the world in which we live.

 The Magi respond with generosity. The final act of devotion by the Magi was the giving of gifts. Matthew says, “Then they opened their treasure chests and gave him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh” (Matthew 2:11). Stinginess is not the way to respond to God’s special presence in creation, in nature, in circumstances, and in people. We must lean into beauty, love, grace, and creativity with cheerful generosity in order to expand the flow of these gifts in our life and in the world. Stinginess shuts us off from the flow of grace; it attempts to bottle up and hoard what can only be received and given. All the best gifts in life can only be received with grace and given with grace. Generosity expands our capacity to give and receive. Generosity is the service component to recovery (recovery, unity, service). We must give away what we have received in order to keep it. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were gifts suited for a king in the ancient Near East. We all have time, talents, and money through which we can serve others and make the world a better place. We sow seeds of love, grace, beauty, and generosity for the sheer joy of it.

 The Magi show us the true spirit of Christmas. Jesus came into the world not to be served, but to serve and give his life as a sacrificial gift for us all. Merry Christmas!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Magi

From the East

The pattern: Recognize, Worship, Gifts

A Star That Burns Bright

Listen: “Rise Up” by Andra Day

I recently watched the new rock climbing documentary called The Alpinist (2021), which portrays the short-lived, but utterly amazing, climbing brilliance of Marc-Andre Leclerc. While I was watching and rewatching Leclerc, I was also studying about Jesus’ birth and the star of Bethlehem. I am drawn to both personalities—Jesus and Marc-Andre. At first blush, one might think the two people have little in common, but two figures kept mashing up in by brain.

I have always been drawn to nature loving characters who live outside mainstream norms and culture—people like Chris McCandless, John Muir, Jeremiah Johnson, Henry David Thoreau, and Jesus.

Marc-Andre Leclerc loved the mountains, and he loved climbing the mountains. He seemed to have a spiritual connection to the rock and ice of high alpine mixed climbing—free soloing alpine routes in British Columbia and Patagonia with unbelievable difficulty—where he seemed to be most free and at peace.

 If you are unfamiliar with climbing documentaries or the climbing scene, you can watch my top choices and learn from the comfort of your own living room. My favorite climbing documentaries of all time:

1.     Meru

2.     The Alpinist

3.     Valley Uprising

4.     Free Solo

If you have not seen any of these climbing movies, start with Valley Uprising just to get a feel for the crazy history of the climbing scene in America. When I first started rock climbing, it was a fringe sport. The people you met climbing in the 70’s and 80’s were countercultural and all over the map spiritually. The rocks and mountains were their church—a fully immersive experience of spiritual oneness and transcendence with nature. I loved hanging out with this crowd, even while I was studying the Greek and Hebrew Bible in seminary (or Old and New Testament).

The first time I went rock climbing I was a teenager in Kansas City, Missouri, and I climbed some limestone bluffs off Cliff Drive. I was already a nature lover, a backpacker, and a hiker. There were no climbing gyms in the late 70’s and early 80’s. I fell in love with the sport quickly. While I was attending seminary in Fort Worth, Texas, I started buying rock climbing gear, and I would train doing door jam pull-ups and going “buildering” (climbing buildings in downtown Fort Worth). I would travel on the weekends to climb at Mineral Wells State Park, Enchanted Rock (west of Austin), and Wichita Mountains in southwest Oklahoma. I ended up climbing extensively in Colorado, Virginia (Blue Ridge Mountains), and a few other states. It was an intense hobby. By the time I hit my early forties, I had blown out the tendons in my elbows and had to stop climbing. I still climb occasionally, but I gave up serious climbing years ago.

I’ve climbed enough to appreciate talented rock climbing when I see it. Rock climbing has exploded as a mainstream sport due to the emergence of rock climbing gyms around the world. Indoor rock climbing in gyms is extremely safe, and outdoor rock climbing can be practiced with extreme safety—even safer than driving your car. However, the sport has always had an extreme edge. The best rock climbers in the world push the extreme edge by free soloing (no ropes) the hardest routes imaginable—the smallest slip means death.

I understand the draw of pushing the edge. I have free soloed difficult routes of several hundred feet in which one slip means falling to your death. Most of the time, climbers free solo routes they have already climbed on rope or routes that are well within their expertise. Even so, many climbers are constantly pushing the edge. I remember one particular climb I did in the Quartz Mountains of southwest Oklahoma. I was on a two hundred foot face climb, and I had never climbed this route before. The crux move (the hardest move on the route) was about one hundred and fifty feet off the ground. I was leading the route, and there was about a fifty foot run out on my last bolted protection. It was a tricky 5.10d move. I wasn’t prepared for the difficulty of the move. I froze momentarily and started to think about falling if I didn’t make the move. I was fifty feet out on my protection which meant if I missed the move I would fall over one hundred feet with the stretch of the rope. I wasn’t sure I would survive the fall even on rope. I thought about down climbing the whole route, but that was probably harder than attempting the crux move. I did some deep breathing and obviously made the move. After this edgy experience, I backed off putting my life on the line like that. I kept climbing, but stayed on the safer side of the sport.

While I was intermittently watching Marc-Andre climb and studying Jesus’ birth, I kept reflecting on why I like both people. What do Marc-Andre Leclerc and Jesus have in common, if anything? Why am I drawn to both people? Do I simply love Marc-Andre for rock climbing and Jesus for entirely different reasons?

The star of Bethlehem burned brightly over the birth place of Jesus. It signaled to the magi from the East the birth of a new ruler of a special kind. Jesus did not fit into mainstream culture. He loved nature, frequently withdrawing to the mountains, the lake, or the desert for prayer and meditation. He marched to the beat of a difference drum. His teaching turned the status quo upside down. Jesus was not a military commander. He didn’t force people to follow through military conquest or power. He was nonviolent. He was a servant. He practiced radical love and inclusion for the outsider, the marginalized, the sick, the morally inferior, the poor, and the oppressed. He taught forgiveness, and his short life ended as an eternal sign of redemptive suffering.

Certainly, Marc-Andre Leclerc was not of the same ilk as Jesus. Marc-Andre was a solo artist on rock and ice most of the time. But he still reflected on his experience with philosophical insight. After doing a winter solo ascent of Torre Egger, Patagonia, considered by some the toughest peak in the Americas, Leclerc shared his philosophy:

When you are in the mountains with a mission, it’s like all the superficialities of life just sort of evaporate and you can often find yourself in a deeper state of mind. And that can stick with you for a while after a big climb. You appreciate everything so much that you take for granted most of the time. The actual achievement doesn’t really change your life like you think it might when you are building up to it. But what you are left with is the journey that got you to that point. And if you have this big journey where you have to figure a lot of stuff out. You had to plan and it was more immersive and then you were somewhere really beautiful for a longtime and then had to work really hard and overcome some kind of mental barrier. You are left with so much more of a story or like a memory and an experience and that’s what I find is the most important.

I love thinking deeply about life. I love adventure. I love nature, and I love God. So I love it when people make me think deeply about life, about what’s important, and about embracing what is beautiful and meaningful. And I love it when people challenge the status quo and think outside the box. Jesus and Marc-Andre are stars that burned brightly, and both of them challenge me to think deeply about the spiritual adventure called life. Maybe its that simple, but it still haunts me.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Incarnation—What If God was One of Us?

Listen: “One of Us” by Joan Osborne

“One of Us” is a song recorded by Joan Osborne released on November 21, 1995. It was written by Eric Bazilian (of the Hooters), produced by Rick Chertoff, and released as the lead single of Joan Osborne’s Relish album. It peaked at number four on the US Billboard Hot 100 and earned three Grammy nominations. It became a top-20 hit in at least twelve other countries. The song addresses various aspects of belief in God by asking a series of questions:

If God had a name what would it be?

And would you call it to his face?

If you were faced with him in all his glory

What would you ask if you had just one question?

What if God was one of us?

Just a slob like one of us

Just a stranger on the bus

Tryin’ to make his way home?

If God had a face what would it look like?

And would you want to see if, seeing meant

That you would have to believe in things like heaven

And in Jesus and the saints, and all the prophets?

 Every Christmas season Christians around the world celebrate the birth of Jesus, which in theological terms is called The Incarnation of God. Incarnation comes from the Latin verb incarno which means “to make flesh.” Christians believe that God took on flesh and blood, or became human, in the person of Jesus. John’s gospel contains a fascinating verse, “So the Word [John adapting/applying Greek ideas of logos to Jesus] became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness” (John 1:14; NLT).

 I have always been fascinated with this idea that God disguised himself in human form. He shows up in unexpected ways—born in a manger, born in transient housing, born to a poor Jewish Palestinian woman under the suspicion of illegitimacy. Then Jesus, in his ministry, upends religious purity culture by showing up and practicing radical love towards the sick, the poor, the outsider, the sinner, the prisoner, the prostitute, and the wayward—those whom religious people avoided for fear of contamination. Jesus showed up in unexpected ways with “unfailing love,” teaching that we encounter God “in the least of these” (Matthew 25:40).

 I think there is a way to encounter the God of your understanding (to borrow a phrase from the Twelve Step world) that embraces “incarnation” in all things (even while holding to the uniqueness of Jesus, after all every snowflake is unique). I appreciate how Richard Rohr writes about this broader view of “incarnation” in several of his books. On the jacket cover of Rohr’s book The Universal Christ, U2 singer/songwriter, Bono, makes an excellent comment concerning the book: “Rohr sees the Christ everywhere and not just in people. He reminds us that the first incarnation of God is in Creation itself, and he tells us that ‘God loves things by becoming them.’ Just for that sentence, and there are so many more, I cannot put this book down.”

 Perhaps this is the primary way we experience God, not from above, but from within—in nature, in people, in creation—God “disguised” in unexpected ways. Rohr says (The Universal Christ, p. 52):

 When you look your dog in the face, for example, as I often looked at my black Labrador, Venus, I truly believe you are seeing another incarnation of the Divine Presence, the Christ. When you look at any other person, a flower, a honeybee, a mountain—anything—you are seeing the incarnation of God’s love for you and the universe you call home.

 This can also be called the immanence of God—that God is present everywhere and in all things. What if God is immensely immanent, actively at work in all things, even in the wreckage of evil and tragedy—not the cause, but lovingly present? What if God is immensely loving, standing in solidarity with all suffering in all creation as sacrificial love in motion? What if God loves us with radical grace? Rohr reflects again in The Universal Christ:

 Remember again, God loves you by becoming you, taking your side in the inner dialogue of self-accusation and defense. God loves you by turning your mistakes into grace, by constantly giving you back to yourself in a larger shape. God stands with you, and not against you, when you are tempted to shame or self-hatred (p. 79).

Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). This understanding of “incarnation” opens up every moment, every hour, and every day as an opportunity to experience God’s incarnational presence everywhere.

So what if God was one of us?

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Gratitude

Listen: “Kind and Generous” by Natalie Merchant

 “Our brain is like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones,” according to psychologist Rick Hanson (Hardwiring Happiness). I have to consciously strive to focus on what is beautiful, lovely, and gracious, lest I fall into the toxic trap of negativity, pessimism, and self-pity. It is truly a struggle at times, even though I usually fall in the “cautiously optimistic” group.

 Ironically, I found Thanksgiving Day this year (2021) exceptionally challenging. In years past, I was always spending Thanksgiving Day with my mom and dad and sisters (and nephews and nieces) or with my in-laws. There were always places to go and too much food to eat. Three years ago I was in rehab in Georgia and missed Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Years with my family for the first time in my life. This year my family decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on Friday.

 So I got up Thanksgiving Day this year without a plan, and I didn’t anticipate how I might feel throughout the day. In the morning, I facilitated a support group meeting, and in the early afternoon, I did a mountain bike ride at Smithville Lake alone. After riding, I came home and watched football games alone. I’m enough of an introvert that “alone” is not usually a bad thing for me, but I felt exceptionally alone this Thanksgiving Day. I didn’t anticipate these feelings. They snuck up on me. I started thinking: “my mom and dad are blessed with children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. My sisters are blessed with children, grandchildren, and in-laws. I’ve always wanted children and grandchildren. I don’t have children, grandchildren, or a spouse—all deep, life-long desires.” This Thanksgiving Day I was grieving, feeling a sense of loss—losses on top of losses. (Friday Thanksgiving with my family was amazing so these were temporary thoughts and feelings, but true to my experience.)

 I know I am not alone. I am thinking of people who have lost their parents, lost a sibling, lost a friend, lost a loved one, lost a spouse, or even lost a child. I am thinking of people who have experienced addiction, crushing broken dreams, or whose lives have been suddenly altered by unexpected illnesses, accidents, or disasters. I am thinking of people who have suffered trauma and abuse. I am thinking of people who feel alone because they still haven’t found a partner to love unconditionally. And holidays can be exceptionally difficult for those who grieve—grieving always seems to last longer than it should. Why can’t I just “snap out of it” as Cher so iconically stated in the movie Moonstruck?

 How do you just layer over these deep emotional losses with a gratitude list? I have heard Brené Brown and other psychologists talk about the danger of “toxic positivity.” Mark Manson said, “Everything worthwhile in life is won through surmounting the associated negative experience. Any attempt to escape the negative, to avoid it or quash it or silence it, only backfires. The avoidance of suffering is a form of suffering. The avoidance of struggle is a struggle. The denial of failure is failure. Hiding what is shameful is itself a form of shame” (The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life). Toxic positivity can be defined as “the excessive and ineffective over generalization of a happy, optimistic state across all situations. The process of toxic positivity results in the denial, minimization, and invalidation of the authentic human emotional experience” (“Toxic Positivity: The Dark Side of Positive Vibes,” by Samara Quintero and Jamie Long; thepsychologygroup.com).

 Despite this warning, the human brain is wired to get stuck in the opposite direction—toxic negativity. Perhaps we are best served to keep a creative tension between the two extremes. “Life, as the biblical tradition makes clear, is both loss and renewal, death and resurrection, chaos and healing at the same time; life seems to be a collision of opposites” (Falling Upward by Richard Rohr, p. 54).

 Studies done by psychologist Rick Hanson and verified by neuroscientists like David Eagleman show that we must consciously hold on to a positive thought or feeling for a minimum of fifteen seconds for it register in our neurons. Gratitude needs to be cultivated even in hardship. So here’s my gratitude list for 2021 about which I have thought deeply.

I am grateful for:

>  My family: parents, sisters, in-laws, nephews, nieces who have loved me and stood by me through my darkest days

>  My friends: you find out who your true friends are when you screw up and lose everything

>  My friends in recovery: this group of people saved my broken life

>  Beauty of nature: I find renewal by moving my body in outdoor spaces

>  Health: so grateful in can still walk and ride my bike

>  Supporters: people who have encouraged me, followed me, and financially supported me through Spirituality Adventures

>  Love: in all its forms, love wins

> Grace: as revealed through people and through Jesus

>  Hope: for a redemptive future

>  God: I still believe

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Naked Spirituality

Listen: “The Story” by Bandi Carlile

Several year ago (2012), I remember hearing Brené Brown give a TED talk entitled “The Power of Vulnerability.” In the talk, Brené modeled vulnerability by sharing some personal struggles. The talk went viral. Millions of people viewed the talk, and I remember Brené reflecting on her experience. She said she felt like she had a “vulnerability hangover.” I can relate. There are times when I have shared personal struggles and questioned myself: “Why did I just expose myself and get emotionally naked before an individual or a group of people? Should I have done that? Was it helpful to me or to them?” I have an impulse to hide my shame and personal struggles, so when I share my struggles with others I can feel like I have a “vulnerability hangover.” However, hiding is not always the best way to heal from shame and inspire others along the way. How do we practice appropriate vulnerability?

Three years ago, I was the Senior Pastor of one of the largest churches in the greater Kansas City area—a church I started in 1990 with five people. Three years ago (November 10, 2018), I went to rehab in Georgia to detox from prescription Xanax and alcohol. When I returned home to Kansas City on March 1, 2019, I was unemployed and going through a divorce. In what felt like a flash, I lost my forty-year career as a pastor, my thirty-seven year marriage, my church community which I loved, and my faith which felt shattered. In a matter of months, I lost all four pillars of my life which I had spent a lifetime building—career, marriage, community, and faith. (See David Brooks, The Second Mountain.)

One year ago, I felt led to start telling my story publicly. It wasn’t an easy decision. I was extremely anxious about telling my story publicly. In fact, when I returned home in March of 2019, I wanted to leave Kansas City and simply hide in another city. The reason? Three weeks after I went to rehab, my most private, shameful behavior was broadcast publicly. I had only shared this information with a few people very close to me. While I was isolated in rehab, my picture appeared on the front page of the Kansas City Star Sunday edition (Sunday, December 6, 2018). There was a two-page article explaining to the world that I was an alcoholic, a drug addict, and an adulterer. This information quickly went around the world on religious news feeds. When I found out about this while isolated in rehab, I was humiliated, mortified, and wanted to disappear. So deciding to tell my story publicly was a big deal to me.

Telling my story privately. Long before I started sharing my story publicly, I started sharing my story privately with a few select individuals. In 2019 I was angry, depressed, and in a very dark place mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I felt like an atheist (even though I knew I wasn’t), and I had done some things of which I was ashamed. I felt like I had been stripped naked publicly with my most vulnerable self exposed. I hated myself, and I was angry. I knew I needed a few close friends with whom I could share everything. I knew these friends needed to be people I could trust with my life, but my trust in friends had been dramatically shaken. Regardless, I knew I needed to trust a few.

At this point, I was thinking about the importance of confession. There is a passage in the Bible which says: “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16). I knew I needed healing, and I knew confession was good for the soul. As a pastor, I had been the recipient of thousands of confessions, so I knew the value of it. In 2019, I had also started attending a recovery group and found a sponsor. In the Big Book of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 58), it says: “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves.” I committed myself to brutal honesty with my sponsor and three or four other close friends. One of the friends was a pastor and my freshman roommate in college. He had been a lifelong friend. I also was meeting with two different female therapists and one of the top addiction doctors in the Midwest. I was privately being brutally honest with this select group of people.

People often ask me what they should confess to others. I truly believe that every human needs confession. I believe it is important for everyone to confess their deepest, most shameful secrets to someone. “Your only as sick as your secrets” is a famous adage of recovery. Shame festers in the darkness of secrecy. Telling your story to someone who loves you and who will keep on loving you is a vital component of healing shame. Perhaps this is why some people don’t share their story with someone—they think they will end up being rejected and unloved. I would encourage anyone to begin by sharing with at least one person, maybe a therapist, a sponsor, a close friend, or a pastor. It’s critical for the healing process.

Telling my story publicly. As a pastor, you give up a big portion of your privacy. Other public or semi-public figures do the same thing. There are some professions that are far more public than others. News and social media sources thrive on negative stories of public figures. They love to publish shameful, juicy details about public people—it sells. There are social media news sources which do nothing else but publish embarrassing, private information about public figures—it sells.

Some people had already been telling my story publicly, but no one had heard from me. After consulting with my close inner circle of friends and counselors and seeking God’s direction, I decided to start telling my story publicly. I had several reasons for making this decision: (1) I wanted to take ownership for my behavior and ask people to forgive me. I felt like I had potentially hurt or disappointed thousands of people; (2) I wanted to own my story at the level with which it had been published. I actually didn’t have the resources to do this because the sources that published the negative stories aren’t usually interested in publishing the positive. The Kansas City Star isn’t going to put me on the front page for my progress in recovery. But, I opened a website and started posting on social media for those who were interested; (3) I wanted to be brutally honest about the process. I didn’t emerge publicly as fully healed. That’s a process that includes doubts, fears, darkness, questions, and the struggle to find faith. The journey of faith is not an easy road filled with religious platitudes; and (4) I wanted people to be able to follow and learn from my journey of recovery. I am a teacher at heart. It’s what God called me to do—a pastor/teacher. So my hope is that people will learn and grow with me.

Oversharing. Most people don’t need to share their secrets publicly. I have observed people oversharing in group settings and on social media.  It is not a healthy practice. Oversharing can even be harmful to yourself or other people. Sharing too many details, sharing about other people, sharing with untrustworthy people could constitute oversharing.  I would encourage people to share in private with a trusted friend or therapist before ever sharing shameful experiences publicly. It would be wise to get input and counsel from a therapist. I have had mental health professionals giving me input on virtually everything I have shared publicly. People post way too much information in a fit of anger or after having a few drinks. Texting or posting when intoxicated is never a good idea! Sharing publicly is an art form.

Owning our story. Brené Brown says, “When we deny the story, it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending.” This is true for all of us. Your story, shared appropriately, can help you heal and have an inspirational impact on another person who is struggling. Don’t be afraid to share. Just do it wisely. There is power and freedom in honesty and self-compassion.

A friend of mine attended the Auschwitz Exhibition at Union Station in Kansas City, and she shared this poem with me. Perhaps we all need to learn “to be dressed in our own skin”—beautiful flaws included.

You who are passing by

I beg you

Do something

Learn a dance step

Something to justify your existence

Something that gives you the right

To be dressed in your skin in your body hair

Learn to walk and to laugh

Because it would be too senseless

After all

For so many to have died

While you live

Doing nothing with your life.

 (Auschwitz survivor Charlotte Delbo, 1971)

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021

Meditation & Prayer

Listen (Language Warning): “Zen” by Grandson, X Ambassadors, and k.flay

I have an overactive mind fueled by a general anxiety disorder. I’ve been this way since I was a child. I am wondering if it’s a disorder of a majority of the people in the human race—an overactive amygdala. Certainly, trauma survivors fall into this category, but it seems to be a condition that extends beyond the trauma population.

One aspect of my overactive mind relates to my inability to be fully present and grateful in the moment. My mind tends to race backwards and race forwards. When it races backwards, I am often being critical of myself, maybe something I didn’t get done, something I forgot, or something I wish I could change (regrets about the past). When my mind races forwards, I am often anxiously thinking about my to-do-list, my goals, my strategic plan, my relationships, and my fears concerning the future and what might go wrong. Occasionally, I reflect backwards with grateful memories and forwards with hope for the future—a redemptive future.

I recently heard a poem in the mindfulness meditation group I attend, and I thought it gave words to the state of my overactive mind. It’s a poem by John Roedel entitled “The Anatomy of Peace.” (Go to johnroedel.com for the full poem).

my brain and

heart divorced

a decade ago

over who was

to blame about

how big of a mess

I have become

eventually,

they couldn’t be

in the same room

with each other

now my head and heart

share custody of me

I stay with my brain

during the week

and my heart

gets me on weekends

they never speak to one another

  -instead, they give me

the same note to pass

to each other every week

on Sundays

my heart complains 

about how my

head has let me down

in the past

and on Wednesdays

my head lists all

of the times my 

heart has screwed

things up for me

in the future

they blame each

other for the

state of my life

“my heart is always sad about

something that happened yesterday

while my head is always worried

about something that may happen

tomorrow,”

I lamented

“I just can’t live with

my mistakes of the past

or my anxiety about the future,”

I sighed

This brings me to meditation and prayer. I have practiced prayer and meditation on almost a daily basis for over forty years. For the majority of those forty years, my meditation practice involved reading scripture (both Old and New Testament) and praying over the meaning and application of a particular passage for my life.  I ask the question: How is God speaking to me through this passage? It’s something I still practice today. However, it doesn’t always help calm my overactive mind.

 When I went to rehab at the end of 2018, I was introduced to a new style of meditation called “mindfulness meditation.” I wasn’t completely uneducated about this style of meditation, but I had never studied or practiced it. Over the last couple of years, I have been learning and practicing this style of meditation. If I had to describe this style of meditation in my own terms, I would say: “I am learning to be present and grateful in the moment.”

I usually sit quietly for several minutes (when practicing alone). I think about the sounds and smells around me, then I begin to focus on my body, my breath, and my thoughts and feelings. I am not trying to judge anything. I try to remain open and curious about my own body, my own thoughts, and my own feelings. I always return to focus on my breath. I try to breath in the moment, be fully present in the moment, and be grateful for the gift of life. The gift of this moment. It’s actually a practice that has helped me calm my overactive mind. I’m not very experienced at it, but I am practicing and learning how to be present and grateful in the moment. I also journal my thoughts, feelings, and prayers every morning. I practice this in my office, in nature, and in my meditation group. It’s been a valuable addition to my practice of prayer and meditation. 

For people in recovery, prayer and meditation is the focus of Step Eleven: “Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.” I have heard hundreds of stories of how mindfulness meditation has become a powerful practice to help people improve their “conscious contact with God.”

In John Roedel’s poem “Anatomy of Peace,” he moves from his head and his heart to his gut and his lungs. It’s his lungs that help him make peace with his head and his heart. Here’s the conclusion to his poem:

“I just can’t live with

my mistakes of the past

or my anxiety about the future,”

I sighed

my gut smiled and said:

“in that case,

you should

go stay with your

lungs for a while,”

I was confused

   -the look on my face gave it away

“if you are exhausted about

your heart’s obsession with

the fixed past and your mind’s focus

on the uncertain future

your lungs are the perfect place for you

there is no yesterday in your lungs

there is no tomorrow there either

there is only now

there is only inhale

there is only exhale

there is only this moment

there is only breath

and in the breath

your can rest while your

heart and head work

their relationship out

this morning,

while my brain

was busy reading

tea leaves

and while my

heart was staring

at old photographs

I packed a little

bag and walked

to the door of

my lungs

before I could even knock

she opened the door

with a smile and as

a gust of air embraced me

she said

“what took you so long?”

In Genesis 2:7, notice the focus on breath: “Then the Lord God fashioned the human, humus from the soil, and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and the human became a living creature” (The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary by Robert Alter).

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021