The Wonder of a Child

Listen: “Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole

As a child, Christmas was always a magical time of year—no school, sledding for hours (back in the days when it snowed on Christmas), and Santa. In my teen years, I became enchanted with the Rocky Mountains. By the time I turned sixteen, I was taking annual trips every year to explore the mountains of Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. I loved hiking, rock climbing, fly fishing, praying, dreaming, journaling, and meditating in the mountains. My annual trips to the mountains became a time to reflect on my life—where I have been and where I was going—but mostly is was a time of awe and wonder. Whether I was taking a nap in the snow at a high mountain lake in Rawah Wilderness or hoping my new tent wouldn’t be shredded by gale-force winds in the Collegiate Peaks, I always sensed a special magical presence in the mountains—a connection with God and childlike wonder. As an adult, I still experience a sense of childlike wonder in nature and riding my bicycle.

G. K. Chesterton was an English writer, philosopher, lay theologian, and literary art critic. In a essay entitled “The Ethics of Elfland,” he pointed out how you can learn the most important things in life from children’s stories (Orthodoxy: The Romance of Faith). Chesterton reflected on five truths contained in most children’s stories: (1) the world does not explain itself, it just exists; (2) wonder and beauty come from someone or something magical; (3) beauty connects to an original design, despite the fact that dragons exist; (4) humility and gratitude are appropriate responses; and (5) all goodness is a treasure.

Children are wired to see the wonder and magic of the world around them. I remember creating a swing with my arms and hands to rotate one of my nephews (two years old at the time) around in circles. He would giggle with all his might and then say, “Do it again.” After twenty minutes I was worn out, but he was ready for more—“Do it again!”

A child’s capacity to watch a cartoon over and over again with the same sense of awe and wonder is amazing. Why do we as adults so easily lose this childlike capacity to enjoy something so utterly spectacular again and again? Maybe there is something eternally childlike hardwired into the universe to which we need to stay connected. Maybe the earth says to the rising sun, “Do it again!” If dogs were purple or grass was blue, would we be more amazed?

Our brains function in a way so that negative emotions stick like glue (in the amygdala) and positive emotions slip away like teflon (See Hardwiring Happiness: The New Brain Science of Contentment, Calm, and Confidence by Rick Hanson). In order to reacquire childlike wonder, we need to actually pause and focus on something that is good, lovely, and awe-inspiring for fifteen seconds or more before it affects our experience and mood. Some people do this by keeping a gratitude list, participating in a creative outlet, enjoying nature, or practicing meditating.

In my darkest days (2019), I was drowning in negative emotions. I had to consciously tune my awareness towards wonder, awe, and gratitude. Positive experiences and emotions I once had in abundance were on short supply in 2019. I found my greatest sources of inspiration in nature and people. Nature is a place where I find infinite enchantment. Before I felt called to be a pastor, I thought about a career in biology, forestry, or wildlife. I am endlessly fascinated with the universe, planet earth, and its inhabitants. People’s stories are another favorite source for wonder and inspiration—the stories of love, courage, heartache, defeat, and recovery.

It’s no surprise to me that Jesus said we need to become more like children to enter into the experience of the kingdom of God (Matthew 18:1-6; Mark 10:13-16). Have a blessed Hanukkah and Christmas season.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

The Magi—Non-Christian Followers of Jesus

Listen: “Song of the Magi” by Anais Mitchell

There are people all over the world who follow Jesus but don’t call themselves Christians—certainly tens of millions 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 or atheist 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 Luke 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 to name a few).

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 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 gift for us all. Merry Christmas!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2021/2022

Humility

Listen: “Change” by Tracy Chapman

Humility is one of the most misunderstood character traits in the pantheon of virtues. Some people have rejected humility as a virtue because they fear humility is exhibited by groveling before others, thinking of others as better than oneself, and nurturing a negative self-concept. Some people prefer to embrace a more positive affirmation of themselves; one that affirms their own inherent value, dignity, worth, giftedness, and potential. Usually people who reject humility are reacting against a faulty concept of humility. True humility is at the heart of spiritual transformation.

For this reason, we need to dive into the concept and nuances of the virtue of humility. If you do a word study on humility (Hebrew, Greek, and Latin roots), you will find that humility is rooted in humus, earth, ground, and lowliness. So the question becomes, “Lowly or grounded in relation to what?” What is the contrast? Historically, the contrast is with the super-inflated ego. The super-inflated ego is arrogant, independent, narcissistic, and grandiose. Everything and everybody exists to serve the super-inflated ego. So in contrast to the super-inflated ego, a person who embraces humility is embracing a virtue of loving connectedness verses self-serving independence.

It’s important to note, there is an error in the opposite direction. Some people have embraced a false humility. They down-size their ego too far in the opposite direction. They embrace a view of self that wallows in self-pity, self-hatred, and self-loathing. Shame and self-flagellation become an upside-down version of the super-inflated ego in which narcissism still reigns supreme. It’s a weird trick of the ego which grounds our identity in our own self-focused ills.

In the recovery community, you hear the term “right-sized” as a description of the virtue of humility. This captures the importance of the middle ground between super-inflated and super-deflated ego. According to Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, “Indeed, the attainment of greater humility is the foundation principle of each of A.A.’s Twelve Steps” (“Step Seven,” p. 70). This is an important insight. Humility is a vital companion virtue with surrender, gratitude and the vulnerability of a moral inventory, confession, amends, and service to others.

For example, how can we practice gratitude without the understanding that much of life is a gift which we receive? Some of the most beautiful moments in life, love, and beauty come to us as a surprising gift (instead of something we have earned or achieved which may serve to inflate our ego), like the gift of a singing bird, a sunrise, or the unconditional love of your dog. We humbly bow before the sunrise and give thanks for the gift of a new day, the gift of life itself.

Humans love to maintain an illusion of control. If we can perform the right set of behaviors, control the people and circumstances around us, and even manipulate the gods or universe through prayers and religious duties to act on our behalf, then we can achieve the desired outcomes for our grandiose vision. The only problem: we are not in control. Humility helps us admit our powerlessness and lack of control. When we surrender to God or the Universe, our ego becomes “right-sized,” and we radically accept reality with appropriate self-awareness, self-compassion, honesty, and vulnerability. Only in humble surrender do we find the importance of loving connection with self, others, and something greater than ourselves.

For many people around the world, December is rooted in the celebration of Christmas. Retailers seek to capitalize on this month of consumer-oriented giving of gifts, but some people turn their focus to Jesus. Jesus is an interesting figure in world history because of his critique of power and imperialism. Jesus advocated for a humble lifestyle of loving service towards others. Love God. Love your neighbor. And even the radical idea: Love your enemy (which takes all kinds of humility and forgiveness, even while advocating for justice nonviolently).

One time a couple of Jesus’ disciples were contending for positions of honor and power at some future date when Jesus became the new imperial leader (revealing their complete misunderstanding of Jesus’ mission). Jesus said, “You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant….” Jesus then spoke of himself: “For even the son of man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:25-28; NLT).

In one of the most famous, ancient Christmas songs which the Apostle Paul recorded in Philippians 2:5-8, Paul encourages us to have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had—one of surrender to God and humble service towards others. Humility is at the heart of the first Christmas story. In our recovery of loving connection, let’s embrace this beautiful virtue which lies at the heart of Christmas.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Gratitude Redux

Listen: “Thank You” (Official Video) by Dido

“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” emotional state.

Ironically, the holiday seasons of Thanksgiving, Advent, Hanukkah, Christmas, and Kwanzaa are difficult for many people. As a pastor for decades, I was always gearing up for Thanksgiving, Advent, and Christmas. Christmas and Easter were like the World Cup and the Supper Bowl for church life in America. It was a time of celebration, reflection, worship, gratitude, and joy, both in my church life and family life. After years of pastoring through the holidays, I became aware of the large numbers of people who were silently suffering during the holiday seasons. People who had gone through significant losses in life and for whom the holidays brought on a deep sense of sorrow and loss (combined with the long days of winter darkness), sometimes called “Seasonal Affective Disorder.” I can certainly relate to this experience over the last four years of my own life.

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 we just “snap out of it” as Cher so iconically shouted in the movie Moonstruck?

From brain science, to psychology, to recovery work, we learn that nurturing gratitude is a vital spiritual practice. So 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 2022 about which I have contemplated with deeply.

I am grateful for:

• My family: fun, loving, and grace-filled who have walked with me through dark days

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

• In-person group friends: they provide support, wisdom, and insight every time we meet

• Recovery friends: an amazing group of human beings who are wounded healers

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

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

• Support team: people who have encouraged me, followed me, and financially supported me through spiritualityadventures.com

• Jesus: the wisdom and beauty of his life and teachings

• Faith: though shattered and broken, it finds beauty in the brokenness

• Hope: for the redemption of all things

• Love: in all its shapes and forms, love wins

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Where Am I Going?

Listen: “Where Am I Going” (live, remastered HQ) by Gino Vannelli

My love for music was nurtured through my relationship with Phillip Warwick Kemmerly (1960-2004). Phillip and I became friends at Plaza Junior High when we were in the sixth grade. We played baseball, whiffle ball and basketball together, caused mischief together, found recreational drugs together, and listened to hours of music together. Phillip’s whole family were musicians (his parents, Kenneth and Janice Kemmerly, and his three brothers, Steve, Paul, and Dave Kemmerly). Phillip would usually play the bass guitar lines while we listened to bands like Kansas, Yes, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Return to Forever (Chick Corea), and Gino Vannelli. Phillip and I were meeting together in 2004 when he was struggling to overcome substance abuse issues and tragically passed in October of 2004 at the age of 44. I owe my love for music to Phillip Kemmerly. May his memory be a blessing.

In 2017-19 I was battling my own, newly acquired substance abuse demons, and I went through a very public downfall in November of 2018. The loss of my marriage, my church and my career led to a crisis of faith. I felt “lost” in the sense that: (1) I didn’t know who I was anymore and my identity was shattered; (2) I didn’t know what I believed anymore and my faith was shattered; and (3) I didn’t know where I belonged anymore and my community life was shattered. I felt isolated, humiliated, and abandoned. I felt like an atheist and didn’t care if I died.

My recovery has been an ongoing process. In 2019 I started attending weekly therapy; I started attending daily twelve-step recovery meetings; I started attending an interfaith clergy support group; and I started reading books by Richard Rohr and authors of his ilk. Rohr’s book, Falling Upward, got my faith off the ventilator.

As I have progressed in recovery, I have found new life and identity in new places. My previous identity was wrapped up in my Evangelical heritage and Evangelical view of God, Jesus, and the Bible. I was raised in a Southern Baptist church and came to faith in Jesus at a Southern Baptist youth camp when I was sixteen. I remember telling Phillip Kemmerly that I was following Jesus and was going to stop doing recreational drugs. I invited him to attend church with me, which he did on a few occasions. I went on to attended a Southern Baptist university and seminary, and was ordained in a Southern Baptist church. I served in Southern Baptist churches before I moved back to Kansas City in 1990 and founded a new non-denominational, somewhat progressive Evangelical-style church in Kansas City, Missouri with the Vineyard movement of churches.

Finding new life and new identity hasn’t been easy. My forty-year history of networked relationships and identity among Evangelicals largely evaporated after my downfall. This added to my sense of homelessness as it related to my identity, my faith, and my community. It’s almost like there was almost no room in the Evangelical world for honest questions, doubts, and disillusionment as I processed through enormous loss and trauma.

One song from my teen years, when I was listening to music with Phillip Kemmerly, has come back to me again and again. It’s a song from Italian-Canadian jazz-pop singer-songwriter Gino Vannelli’s third album Storm at Sunup—“Where Am I Going.”

The lyrics rattle around in my head almost weekly, even though I haven’t listened to the song in decades. It’s amazing how songs from our youth are so sticky. It’s a song that Vannelli wrote in his early twenties about growing old. The song is almost eight minutes long, and I find the lyrics haunting and poignant, yet resonating with where I find myself in recent years:

Where am I going

Have I gone to far

Have I lost my mind

Where are my eyes

Oh have I seen to much

Have I lost my touch

Losing directions from growing infections

Poisoned desires of reaping life so young

And I will grow to the age of maybe eighty years

In such little time

With this venturous mind

What am I saying

Don’t I know myself from experience

I’ll never change

Nor cease to sail the sky

Till the day I die

I’ll come to conclusion with fear or illusion

I’ll live how I feel

Cause no matter how fast or how slow

Youth will go

I think we all hit seasons in our life when its appropriate, even necessary, to reevaluate everything (usually brought on by new ideas and experiences or painful losses). A season in which we examine the beliefs and the values which we have inherited from our ancestors. In this reevaluation we discard some of the old, hang on to some of the old, and then transform the old into something new—something less toxic and more loving, gracious and beautiful. Jesus taught and practiced the importance of renewing old traditions. Old traditions can become worn out, brittle, and even harmful. Jesus was a radical reformer of a beautiful, ancient Hebrew tradition. Jesus said, “Therefore every scribe [or student of Torah] who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like a master of a house, who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old” (Matthew 13:52; ESV). Here are a few of the new (and old) places where I am finding new life.

Community. The twelve-step community practices an open and gracious spirituality. It allows for all persons, regardless of their faith tradition or lack thereof, to navigate their own spiritual path, which usually results in connection with self, with others, and with something greater than themselves that is loving and caring. Imagine that—a loving, more caring God or Higher Power. Most recovery groups provide a safe place to fall apart and rebuild. Churches, synagogues, temples, and mosques would do well to learn from this tradition of recovery and spirituality.

Better questions. Questions, doubts and disbelief are part of the faith journey. If you read the Bible, notice how many of the main characters lived with questions and doubts about there own faith journey like Job, Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, Solomon, Ruth, Jeremiah, Jesus, and most of the disciples of Jesus. Questions serve the faith journey better than answers in many situations.

Therapy. So important. Work through your issues with a good therapist. You and your loved ones will be healthier because of it.

Meditation. Find a good meditation/centering prayer group. It’s good for you. It’s good for your body, your brain, your emotions, and your thoughts; and it’s good for your connection with God. (Contact me if you need some help finding one.)

Journaling. After years of sporadic journaling, I have finally incorporated journaling into my morning prayers, readings, and meditations. I recommend using Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity as a guide for the practice of journaling and creativity.

Jesus. I still love Jesus. I am rereading Jesus. I am paying close attention to the questions Jesus asked, the struggles Jesus encountered, the criticisms Jesus endured, the outsiders and marginalized whom Jesus embraced, and the path of nonviolent love and forgiveness for God, neighbors, and enemies which Jesus walked.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

A Safe Place to Fall Apart

Listen: “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell (2022 Newport Folk Festival)

When Joni Mitchell was in her early 20’s, she wrote an amazing song of psychological depth called “Both Sides Now.” In the song, Joni poetically expresses the journey of human development from childish naïveté (belief in Santa, tooth fairies, and idyllic love) to the desert of criticism and complexity (where everything falls apart), and then to a second naïveté in which we are called out of the desert of disbelief and into a richer complexity of deeper truth, magic, and love (borrowing Paul Ricoeur’s idea of “The Second Naïveté”). I’m always amazed when someone so young is able to express mysteries which are so deeply nuanced and seasoned. It’s as though something or someone is singing through them. (Follow Stan Mitchell’s advice and watch Joni sing “Both Sides Now” in two minutes when she’s 24 years old, and then watch her sing it fifty years later after two packs a day and strokes and she takes seven minutes to sing it as a lament.)

Where do you fall apart? When your foundations and your faith and the people and things you so deeply believed, seem to fail you. Where do you find a safe place to question everything, fall apart, and rebuild? When something jars your world—a new idea, a failure, a divorce, a loss of career, a death, a new experience, an illness—and your world shatters and falls apart. Where do you go?

It seems to me that our families, friends, and faith communities should be shaped and informed in such a way, that these foundational communities provide safe places for honesty, vulnerability, questions, doubts, death, and rebirth. But this is not always the case. Sometimes these communities are so brittle, dysfunctional, and insecure, that they fear any challenge, question, misstep, or human frailty will threaten their very existence.

When my world fell apart, I found supple, caring, loving, and safe connections in the hearts of my family, true friends, and the weathered wisdom of the Twelve Step recovery community. I am grateful I found some people with whom I could be totally honest about my faults, fears, doubts, and questions, while at the same time providing me with safe and gentle guidance.

I believe we all need faith communities in which we can explore beliefs, find faith, lose faith, and reconstruct faith. Communities which embrace the knowing and the unknowing, the beliefs and the doubts, the potential answers and the questions, the joys and the griefs, the certainties and the uncertainties. These communities are supple, loving, and caring, and they are able to embrace the whole experience of human life and development with grace, beauty, and love.

I agree with spiritual director Parker Palmer who 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. Palmer quotes theologian, activist Nelle Morton: “Our task in this time is to help hear other people into deeper and deeper speech.”

In July of 2022 I heard Stan Mitchell give an inspirational talk at the Wild Goose Festival held in North Carolina. I was moved to tears as Stan shared his own story and beautifully articulated his thoughts by mashing up Paul Ricoeur, Joni Mitchell, Walter Brueggemann, and ancient Scripture (like the progression of Psalm 21 as First Naïveté, Psalm 22 as The Desert of Criticism, and Psalm 23 as The Second Naïveté). During a recent podcast interview, I asked Stan Mitchell to articulate his thoughts and experiences to my audience, listen to those thoughts here.

Here’s how Stan interprets Joni Mitchell’s classic song “Both Sides Now” through the themes of clouds, love, and life:

Clouds (First Naïveté)

Rows and flows of angel hair

And ice cream castles in the air

And feather canyons everywhere

I looked at clouds that way

(Everything Falls Apart)

But now they only block the sun

They rain and they snow on everyone

So many things I would have done

But clouds got in my way

(Second Naïveté)

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now

From up and down and still somehow

It’s clouds illusions I recall

I really don’t know clouds at all

Love (First Naïveté)

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels

The dizzy dancing way that you feel

As every fairy tale comes real

I’ve looked at love that way

(Everything Falls Apart)

But now it’s just another show

And you leave ‘em laughing when you go

And if you care, don’t let them know

Don’t give yourself away

(Second Naïveté)

I’ve looked at love from both sides now

From give and take and still somehow

It’s love’s illusions that I recall

I really don’t know love

Really don’t know love at all

Life (First Naïveté)

Tears and fears and feeling proud

To say, “I love you” right out loud

Dreams and schemes and circus crowds

I’ve looked at life that way

(Everything Falls Apart)

Oh, but now old friends they’re acting strange

And they shake their heads and they tell me that I’ve changed

Well something’s lost, but something’s gained

In living every day

(Second Naïveté)

I’ve looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It’s life’s illusions I recall

I really don’t know life at all

So I make a toast to life—its magic, its illusions, its pain, and its confusion. And a toast to the communities, friends, and families which embrace the messy whole of it and graciously love one another through it.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Secrets

Listen: “Secrets” by OneRepublic

How many secrets do you keep? There are two categories of secrets most people harbor in their hearts from time to time. One type of secret resides in hopes and dreams we have for ourselves and/or our loved ones. Parents have dreams for their children hoping they find happiness, meaningful work and true love, but how much dream detail do you reveal to your children? Do you tell them you want them to go to Harvard, become a surgeon, marry a specific person and have three grandchildren? Or is it better to keep some dreams secret? Maybe you secretly dislike your professional career even though your successful. You have a secret dream of being a painter or a musician, but your afraid of failure and losing the status you have already gained. Secretly, you’d rather move to the mountains and paint.

According to Jesus, sometimes its better to do some things in secret instead of making a public spectacle of it. Sometimes its better to pray in secret, give in secret, or fast in secret. Some secrets are healthy, or at minimum, not harmful.

Another type of secret resides in the fear and shame of being known. In this situation, we hide what we don’t want others to know about us for fear they will reject us. The insecure person hides deep envy and jealousy and poses as a friend to those they envy. The alcoholic hides the amount of alcohol consumed in an effort to protect the overuse because alcohol numbs the hidden emotional pain inside. The thief determines it won’t hurt anyone to secretly borrow from a slush fund and pay it back later. The food addict is bingeing and purging in secret in an effort to control their broken self-image and self-hatred. The lover is hiding the affair because they’ve finally found someone who understands and makes them feel alive. Or the victim is hiding the sins of their abuser for fear of the backlash from exposing the family secrets.

In the long run, these secrets of fear and shame bury us. The public image we have fashioned through half-truths and self-deception becomes too heavy. Only people with antisocial or narcissistic personality disorders fiercely maintain these facades over the course of a lifetime. Most people crumble under the guilt and shame.

The way out seems counterintuitive. Since shame festers in the darkness of secrecy, you are only as sick as your secrets, which means, shame is healed through confession and vulnerability. This is ancient wisdom. In the Hebrew scripture, the Psalmist declared: “When I refused to confess my sin [or secrets], my body wasted away, and I groaned all day long” (Psalm 32:3; NLT). And in the New Testament: “Confess your sins [or secrets] to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed” (James 5:16; NLT). Step Five in AA is: “Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs” (AA, p. 59).

I recommend finding an experienced therapist, sponsor, priest or pastor. Start by sharing your secrets with someone who is safe and experienced. Don’t share all your secrets with anyone or everyone. Not everyone is safe or wise. There is an art to confession.

But confess we must. If we want to be healed. If we want to be whole. If we want to know the freedom of guilt-free, shame-free living. The freedom comes through the love of another who truly knows us and continues to love us. The unconditional love of another is sometimes exactly what we need to kick-start loving ourselves. The courageous act of vulnerability through confession leads us to deeper levels of self-compassion, love for others, and love for God.

“God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them” (1 John 4:16; NLT).

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

The Tree of Life

Listen: “Tree of Life” by Nefesh Mountian (Live at the Station Inn)

Trees have always fascinated me. As a boy I was always wanting to play, climb and explore in the trees and woods of Missouri—her maples, oaks, hackberries, black locusts, mulberries, elms, willows, cottonwoods, and redbuds. As a young adult I fell in love with the Lodgepole pine and Aspen tree forests of the Rocky Mountains. This past week I fell in love with the African Baobab tree. (See https://spiritualityadventures.com/blog/what-do-trees-teach-us-about-the-dangers-of-isolation for additional insights from trees.)

While visiting Ethiopia, with the dollar so strong in Africa, I decided to take a short trip to Kenya. My first visit to this beautiful country. I was able to spend some time on the white sand beaches of Diani on the Indian Ocean and see some magnificent wildlife in the Serengeti plains of Kenya. But more than the elephants, baboons, giraffes, antelopes and tigers, it was a tree that captured my attention the most—the Baobab tree.

Africans call the Baobab tree “The Tree of Life” or “The Upside Down Tree.” For all of you Stranger Things fans, the branches of the Baobab tree look like an underground root system which has inspired many legends and myths in the ancient African lore about “The Upside Down Tree.” However, the caption “The Tree of Life” is well deserved. This tree can teach us how to live a spiritually connected life dedicated to love and beauty. The tree is indigenous to the African savanna, Madagascar and Australia and can live to be several thousand years old.

The Baobab tree is capable of providing shelter, food and water for the many life forms which inhabit the African savannah regions. Here are a few of characteristics of the tree:

• The cork-like bark is fire resistant and is used for fiber, cloth and rope.

• The leaves are edible, eaten as condiments and used as medicine.

• The fruit looks like an oval coconut which is eaten and used to make drinks. It has twice as much calcium as milk and is high in anti-oxidants, iron, potassium and has six times the vitamin C of an orange. The fruit seeds are used for oil, cosmetics and moisturizer.

• The bulbous, succulent trunk conducts and stores water and minerals. During the rainy season the Baobab tree stores hundreds of liters of water which is tapped in the dry season and allows it to produce its fruit in the dry season.

• The reproductive flowers open at dusk and fade by the next morning.

Through the Baobab tree we learn the value of self-giving love. The tree offers over 300 life-sustaining benefits and is fundamental to the entire dry African savanna ecosystem, keeping soil conditions humid, aiding nutrient recycling and slowing soil erosion with their massive root systems.

How blessed is the person who delights in the beauty of nature, who meditates day and night upon her self-giving love, and who patterns oneself after her life-giving ways. By following her ways we can be a blessing to the ecosystem in which we are planted.

Here’s a thought. Have a brain-storming session and come up with 101 ways to show kindness to the people, the life-forms and the planet with which you co-habitat. Think about ways you can show love and kindness with no strings attached. You might start a garden, plant a tree, rescue a kitten, write a song, sponsor a student, feed the birds, paint a picture, say a kind word, serve at a food pantry, give a gift, affirm someone, hug someone, spend twenty minutes meditating in nature, practice self-compassion, listen to a friend or show hospitality to a stranger.

Be creative, spontaneous and daily seek to practice life-giving ways of showing love and creating beauty. Like the Baobab tree: absorb life-giving water, provide food for the hungry, produce fruit in the dry seasons, and bloom in the night. It’s like classical, ancient metaphors—living water, bread of life, fruit of the vine, and rose of Sharon—all wrapped up in one magnificent tree: The Tree of Life!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Ethio-Jazz: Elements of a Gift

Listen: “Yegelle Tezeta” by Mulatu Astatke

You are a gift. All that you are. All that you believe. All that you have experienced—the good, the bad, and the ugly—makes for a beautiful gift, which is you. Some people rise to national and international prominence to illustrate these truths in hyperbolic fashion, but it’s true for every person who bears the image of the Divine.

Last night (10/13/22) I had the privilege of meeting Mulatu Astatke at his jazz club, African Jazz Village, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He is internationally known in the jazz community as the father of Ethio-Jazz. I was hoping to do a podcast interview with Mulatu, but he is under contract for a new documentary featuring his life and influence and was asked to limit his interviews.

Mulatu was born and raised in Jimma in Southwest Ethiopia and pioneered a jazz style in the 1970’s that combined traditional Ethiopian music, Latin jazz, and Afro-funk. He was trained musically in London, New York City, and Boston and continues to tour the world. Seven of his songs were featured in the 2005 film, Broken Flowers, written and directed by Jim Jarmusch (whom I will soon quote) starring Bill Murray, Sharon Stone, Jessica Lange, Tilda Swinton, Julie Delpy, and Chloe Sevigny.

My love for jazz began in Kansas City when I was given a personal history tour of the Kansas City Jazz scene by former Liberty High School band director, Carl Prather. Carl gave me a tour of the American Jazz Museum in the historic 18th and Vine district of Kansas City, Missouri and also took me to jazz music venues like the Blue Room, Green Lady Lounge, and The Phoenix. I learned about a style of jazz developed in Kansas City during the 1920’s and 1930’s by Count Basie, Bennie Moten, Charlie Parker, and Jay McShann. I fell in love with Kansas City Jazz and still enjoy introducing my friends who visit Kansas City from around the world to Kansas City Jazz.

My love for Ethio-Jazz and Ethiopia began on my first trip in 2002 in order to partner with Woudineh Endayelalu and the beginnings of Vineyard Church Planting in Ethiopia. In 2008 I met the Former Prime Minister of Ethiopia, Tamrat Layne, at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington DC and became friends. Tamrat connected me to his long-time friend, Mulatu Astatke, because Tamrat had learned of my love for jazz music.

I think every person has gifts, if properly discovered, nurtured, and cultivate, to offer to the world which give love, create beauty, and enhance the common good of humanity, and I think we all need to learn how to become mashup artists like Mulatu Astatke and Jim Jarmusch. Jarmusch says,

Nothing is original. 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.

Mulatu combined influences from his background, his heart, his talents, and his passions into a unique blend of music which is a gift to the world. Each of us has a unique blend of elements that have SHAPED our lives through which we can offer a gift of service to others.

Spiritual gifts. These are motivational gifts which originate from God, the Universe, or deep within us which, once identified and developed, help us serve friends, families, and communities through actions such as service, encouragement, leadership, hospitality, care, counsel, nurture and administration.

Heart. These are passions of the heart which many times emerge through the things we love and the things which make us angry. We may feel passionately for something beautiful or anger at a particular injustice in the world. These deeply felt passions motivate us towards a “cause to live” or a “beauty to express.”

Abilities. These are natural or learned skills in life, and our skills may or may not align with our passions. Some skills foster a vocation and some simply serve as a hobby. For example, you may be good at fixing cars or accounting, but it may not be your passion. I have always been an above average endurance athlete, which I have used to stay healthy and build community (as a former runner and current cyclist). I am fairly passionate about health and community, and cycling is a intense hobby which contributes to these core values.

Personality. These seem to be inherent traits which orient us to certain proclivities which characterize the way in which we interact with people or interpret our experiences. There are several influential personality tests such as Myers Briggs or Enneagram which help individuals, families, and teams better understand each other.

Experience. Your personal history, family of origin, accomplishments, successes, failures, hurts, and pains shape who you are and how you live your life. Many times our deepest joys or our deepest disappointments launch us into new dimensions of contribution to the common good. Faith communities and recovery communities are just a few examples of how our experiences can shape our contributions to the world.

These five elements are not necessarily distinct from each other, and they certainly overlap each other. They simply provide a lens through which we can see ourselves and the gifts we have to offer. Learning to mashup and serve up our lives as a gift of service to others is an essential element of a life-well-lived for the common good. You may influence one person, a dozen people, hundreds of people, or even thousands of people for the common good—but if you inspire faith, hope, love, goodness, and beauty—you will be a blessing to the earth and everything in it. You are a gift!

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Expectations

Listen: “Under Pressure” by Queen

How do we live life without expectations? Is it even possible or healthy? Are some expectations destructive to our spiritual health? I have been active in the recovery community for over three years, and I have run across some cautionary statements concerning expectations:

Expectations are premeditated resentments. (Uncertain origin)

Expectations are resentments waiting to happen. (Anne Lamott)

Perhaps the best thing of all for me to remember is that my serenity is inversely proportional to my expectations. The higher my expectations of Max [spouse of writer] and other people are, the lower is my serenity. I can watch my serenity level rise when I discard my expectations. (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 420)

When I was pastoring a growing church, I was amazed at how unrealistic people’s expectations in me could be. I remember one occasion when a couple was having a marital dispute and they called me on a Friday night and wanted me to come over to their house and have a counseling session (the church was only averaging about 200 in attendance at the time). I was going on a date with my wife, and I told them I would schedule an appointment with them after the weekend. They were offended that I wasn’t instantly available for them and left the church. I remember another instance when someone left the church because I didn’t smile at them and talk to them in the church foyer before a service started. When the church was averaging several thousand people in attendance, I would greet people in the foyer for fifteen minutes before each of our multiple weekend services. I guess I didn’t get around to everyone.

After several years of pastoring people and their expectations, I often thought: “I wish people would walk in the church doors with a big sandwich board sign on themselves. They could list out all their expectations on the sign before we even got to know each other. Then I could honestly let them know whether or not I would even try to meet their expectations.” For example, I could have told the couple on the front end that I would not be available for instantaneous Friday night marriage counseling appointments. That would have saved me the heartache of getting to know them, loving them, and then disappointing them and them leaving the church. People would often announce their unspoken expectations in me as they exited the church. I would still be left to wrestle with a sense of guilt or failure around their disappointment with me. After all, I was their pastor and it wasn’t my goal to disappoint people!

The longer I pastored, the more I realized how unhealthy and unrealistic people’s expectations could be. It wasn’t healthy for them and it wasn’t healthy for me.

So restating the original questions: How do we live life without expectations? Is it even possible or healthy? Are some expectations destructive to our spiritual health?

I have always functioned as a visionary leader with a set of realistic goals (SMART goals) and an actionable plan to execute my goals (three to five year plans broken down into annual, monthly, weekly, and daily action steps). Some of my goals were personal goals (exercise, reading, study) and some of my goals were related to the church community which I founded and built. When it came to community goals (or expectations), I had learned to lead a process of developing community goals and obtaining goal ownership with large numbers of people. When goals were accomplished, we celebrated the accomplishments and built on our successes. When we failed to meet our goals, we would evaluate, learn, adjust and move forward with new goals.

After decades of successes (and some failures), it all came crashing down for me. In a sudden and public revelation of moral failure, most of the pillars in my life were destroyed or crippled: my church community, my marriage, my career and my faith.

That was almost four years ago. Rebuilding from the ashes after decades of success has not been an easy task. Personal goals still involve things like exercise, reading, and studying, but I’ve added a few new ones like good sleep and staying sober. Community goals are slowly emerging around my new work with Spirituality Adventures (spiritualityadventures.com).

Some expectations are exceptionally unrealistic and unhealthy, either our expectations in ourselves or our expectations in other people. And these unrealistic, often times unspoken, expectations can be the source of deep disappointment, resentment and broken relationships. How do we learn to navigate expectations in a healthy way?

Our own expectations in ourselves. All of us have developed expectations related to our own self. These expectations can include character standards, core values and performance standards related to friends, family and work. Most people I know have exceptionally high standards (or expectations) for themselves, standards that they rarely achieve one hundred percent of the time. We have a gap between our highest values and our achievement of those values. As I look back on my own private failures which were made public, I had developed some almost superhuman expectations for my own moral performance. When I failed to live up to my own high standards and was publicly humiliated, I wanted to die. I was buried in shame. I had a hard time forgiving myself and believing that others would forgive me as well. Learning to embrace the values of self-compassion, self-forgiveness, humility, honesty and vulnerability in a community of people who loved me despite my personal failures was vital for my health and well-being. (This was the recovery community for me.) It is this same set of values practiced in community that can lead us to healthy expectations for personal growth and development.

Our expectations of others. Let’s face it. Honestly, we all have expectations in others: our friends, our family, our co-workers, our employees, our neighbors, our partners and our children. The better we communicate our expectations, listen to other people’s expectations, work towards solidarity and cooperation, develop good conflict resolutions skills and practice love and forgiveness towards others, the better and healthier our expectations will become. Otherwise, our expectations, almost without exception, will turn into premeditated resentments.

Our expectations of God or the Universe. If you believe in some concept of God or karma or some universal laws of love, justice, attraction and beauty, then you have probably found yourself having some set of expectations in the structure of how God or the Universe should behave. Invariably, you will be disappointed. Life rarely lives up to all of our expectations. We have to learn to radically accept life on life’s terms. I like how Richard Rohr writes about this predicament.

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, Wars, 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).

Without this kind of radical acceptance, love and forgiveness, our expectations are certainly “resentments waiting to happen.”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Stigma—Tattooed with Disgrace

Listen: “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day

A stigma is a mark of disgrace. In most cultural contexts, something is stigmatized because it lies outside the conventions of what is considered normal and acceptable. If someone finds themselves living outside mainstream culture—life on the margins—then one can find themselves “marked” or “tattooed” with disgrace by individuals or communities. The word “stigma” comes from Latin and Greek origins meaning to “to brand or scar with an iron or tattoo with an instrument.” In the medieval period of Christianity, “stigmata” was referred to as appearances of bodily wounds, scars, and pain in locations corresponding to the crucifixion wounds of Jesus Christ. St. Francis of Assisi was the first recorded stigmatic. In English, “stigma” was used figuratively as early as the 1600’s.

Some stigmas can derive from behavioral choices which are hurtful to others and/or self-destructive. In Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic book, The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne is the main character who is forced to wear a scarlet letter “A” on her dress as punishment for her adultery. As the novel unfolds, most readers find themselves more appalled by the puritanical, hypocritical attitudes of the punishers rather than the adulteress. By the end of the novel, one has an new appreciation for Hester Prynne, who bore the scarlet letter.

Another example of behavioral misconduct which is stigmatized in our culture is substance use disorder. 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. Despite this stigma, research is showing that SUD is more closely associated with the disease model (genetic predisposition) rather than a strictly behavioral model. Removing misconceptions around stigmas can lead to more compassionate support, treatment, and resources for those in recovery.

Instead of behavioral choices, some stigmas result from circumstances beyond a person’s control. People can experience stigmas based on the color of their skin, a mental health condition, a disease or illness, a sexual orientation, a mental or physical disability, or becoming a refugee, an orphan, an immigrant, or a homeless person. Stigmas result in people being judged and excluded from loving community, many-times harshly without warrant.

One of the beautiful lessons we can learn from the life and ministry of Jesus was the way in which he showed solidarity with those who were stigmatized. Jesus drew on passages from the Torah like Deuteronomy 10:18: “He ensures that orphans and widows receive justice. He shows love to the foreigners living among you and gives them food and clothing” (NLT). In one of Jesus’ classic teachings, he identifies himself with the “least of these” or those who are stigmatized—the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the prisoner. Jesus said if you feed, clothe, care, visit, and show hospitality to the “least of these” then you do it to me. A powerful statement of solidarity with those who suffer from stigmas.

Jesus’ focus was radical love, forgiveness, and inclusion. Even while Jesus was crucified by the systemic forces of injustice, he spoke words of forgiveness towards his abusers: “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). He spoke words of solidarity to the criminals crucified next to him: “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43). And he bore the “marks” or the “tattoos” of solidarity with all those who suffer, whether or not the suffering is due to behavioral choices or systemic injustices beyond a person’s control.

I was recently doing a podcast interview with Sister Miracles of “Sisters Poor of Jesus Christ” (https://youtu.be/r-CUnFqngtI). She has committed her life to seeing the “hidden face of Jesus” in the poor, the addicted, the mentally challenged, and the homeless. Perhaps it’s a way of seeing people for who they really are. Seeing through the stigma to the beautiful person whose dignity shines bright once we hear their story, identify with their pain, and join them on a journey of healing, discovery, and wholeness. Then we can bear the marks and scars of disgrace with dignity and grace—together in solidarity.

Contrary to the deeply haunting, resonating lyrics of Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong:

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I’m the only one, and I walk alone

My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating

Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me

‘Till then, I walk alone

We need to find each other and bear our scars in dignity and solidarity with each other. May stigmas be damned for isolating us. May stigmas be transformed in order to unite us. We are not alone.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Sacred Mixture of Emotional Paradox

Listen: “Hot N Cold” by Katy Perry

Joy and sadness commingle—often—in our human experience. Our human tendency is to avoid or push away from unpleasant feelings, but learning to stay with our unpleasant feelings through mindful awareness, mixed simultaneously with our pleasant feelings, is a pathway to wholeness instead of numbness. It increases our capacity for embracing the creative, immersive experience of aliveness.

A close friend of mine, Pastor Michael Brooks of The Oasis Church in Kansas City, Missouri recently asked a group of pastors how we deal with simultaneous sadness and joy in life and ministry. Pastor Brooks is in the season of celebrating the dedication of their new church building (September 25, 2022) after a long haul of online services through Covid. In the midst of this season of celebration, he received the news that his closest friend had died. How can he celebrate and grieve at the same time?

Another close friend, Augie Grasis, lost his radiant wife, Pami Rapp Grasis, to mesothelioma on September 3, 2022. At the celebration of life service, Augie gave a eulogy of Pami’s life. It was one of the most beautiful tributes to a beloved wife I have ever heard. It was full of love, humor, tenderness, and gratitude for Pami in whom he truly delighted. I wept and laughed as Augie beautifully celebrated and mourned the passing of his wife.

I am reminded of how many times I experienced sadness and joy in the same moment as a pastor. As the church I founded and pastored grew to several thousand members, people would often ask me what was the most difficult part of overseeing and pastoring such a large group of people. I always gave the same response: it was the frequency of grieving with some and celebrating with others, many times in the same hour. In a large church, within the same hour of the day or night, it is not uncommon, for example, to celebrate the birth of a new baby in one moment and then grieve the loss of a loved one in the next moment. The Apostle Paul admonishes us: “Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

Over the last three years, I have done my share of grieving big losses in my own life such as my church community, my marriage, and my career. I live in the same community in which I pastored for almost thirty years so I cross paths with former church members almost daily. There is always a tinge of sadness and joy: sadness for how my pastoral career imploded and joy for the people who share with me how their lives were positively influenced by my pastoral ministry.

Tara Brach, who is a mindfulness meditation teacher, asked the question (in “The Power of Awareness”): “Why would we want to stay with unpleasantness?” And a follow-up question: “What happens when we avoid?” Brach shared four negative experiences related to avoiding: (1) tiredness (even chronic fatigue) because it takes energy to push away unpleasantness; (2) more unpleasantness because of the anxious contractions generated by contracting against a contraction; (3) a chronic sense of apprehension or foreboding because our psyche still knows; and (4) our identity forms around “the resisting-self, the defending-self, or the controlling-self.” According to Brach: Pain + Resistance = Suffering. Whereas: Unpleasantness + Mindfulness = Grounds of Freedom.

By recognizing and allowing a mixture of sadness and joy, we can honor both experiences at the same time. We may do this by sitting with our emotions through meditation and journaling—not resisting, but receiving the emotions with curiosity, openness, and self-compassion. We may do this by sharing our emotions and experiences with our friends, loved ones, therapists, and communities of support.

In so doing, we give expression to a sacred mixture of emotions. Sacred because it’s an experience which transcends and unites all humans—the laughter and the tears. Sacred because it embraces the breathtaking joy of life itself and the heartbreaking sadness of loss. This sacred mixture is us.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Toxic Masculinity

Listen: “Better Man” by Pearl Jam

I was recently doing a podcast interview with Mike Clawson (Watch Mike Clawson Podcast Episode), who is the administrator of Illuman which is a men’s ministry founded by Richard Rohr in 2012. Illuman seeks to nurture the spiritual formation of men through retreats, support groups, and life-giving spiritual practices. During the interview, I asked Mike to comment on the issue of toxic masculinity. Mike shared that he believes toxic masculinity flows from patriarchy. Patriarchy is a system of society or government in which men hold the power and women are largely excluded from it. Most societies throughout human history have been patriarchal. In many contexts, men have basically claimed divine authority to be dominate, manipulative, authoritative, and abusive assholes—in families, churches, businesses, and governments. My grandmother was born in America before women even had the right to vote (Myrtle Leona Bond Herron, 1903-1997).

Mike’s comment reminded me of a conversation I had in the church foyer several year ago. The church I founded was growing rapidly and I was doing six identical, live services in a four hundred seat auditorium (two Saturday night, three Sunday morning, and one Sunday night service). I would greet people in the foyer twenty minutes before the service and twenty minutes after the service. People would want to talk to me about every topic imaginable—a death in the family, a troubled child, a marriage problem, a financial issue, a difficult co-worker, a theological question, politics, an illness, a cycling adventure (my favorite), or where to get their car fixed!

One Sunday morning in the foyer about ten minutes before a service started, a husband came up to me with his wife in tow. He seemed very tense and troubled, and his wife wouldn’t look me in the eye. Her gaze was downward, and her demeanor reflected a young child who was in trouble with the principle. The husband started complaining to me about his wife: how disrespectful she was, how she wouldn’t obey him, and how she had misbehaved. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “Pastor, would you tell her the Bible says that she is supposed to submit to me.”

I was immediately angered. The signs of abuse were all too obvious and grievous, but I had learned how delicate these situations are. My response could potentially increase her chances of finding help or increase her chances of more abuse. We had a ministry called “Hope Ministry” which we started in our church for women who were victims of domestic violence. We partnered with domestic violence organizations in Kansas City, and we would invite expert women in the field to train our staff on how to work with this group of mostly women and children (although occasionally men were victims of abuse). Unfortunately, I never heard the outcome of this particular situation.

As a bible teacher in the church, I taught on issues of authority, leadership, and submission in the context of marriages, families, churches, and businesses. I would focus on Jesus’ teachings, even though I couldn’t ignore the Apostle Paul’s teaching. Paul was (is) challenging because he seems to be conflicted over the role of women (and slaves as well). I would highlight Paul at his best. At his best, Paul envisioned men and women equally gifted in the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12-14 which includes the famous “love” chapter still quoted at weddings today). At his best, Paul envisioned total equality for everyone in Christ: “There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28; NLT). Even when speaking about marriage, Paul called for mutual submission (Ephesians 5:21) and he taught husbands “to love their wives just as Christ loved the church by giving up his life for her” (Ephesians 5:25). Despite these highlights, Paul did seem to fall back into cultural patterns of hierarchy/patriarchy at times.

Jesus, on the other hand, seemed to consistently challenge all of humanity to live by a set of values rooted in radical love and grace. Jesus even challenged people in positions of authority and power to reconsider how they use their power. Jesus modeled a pattern of influence and leadership rooted in love, grace, service, cooperation, and humility, as opposed to force, dominance, manipulation, oppression, or abuse. At one point in Jesus’ ministry, his disciples were vying for positions of authority. Jesus challenged them:

You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must be the slave of everyone else. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:42-45; NLT).

The values Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount were intended for all of humanity. In essence, he was flipping the script on the rich and powerful. Blessed are the poor, the humble, the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure in heart, and those who hunger for justice—clearly a set of values opposite of the rich and powerful oppressive abusers.

During my last three years in the recovery community, I have deeply embraced the practice of honesty, humility, and vulnerability. I have watched how my gift of vulnerability helps others become vulnerable about their own issues. Honesty, humility, and vulnerability neutralize the playing field of egos vying for power, authority, and admiration. It provides safe space for weakness, woundedness, uncertainty, and insecurity. It’s hard for toxic masculinity to thrive in an environment of honesty, humility, and vulnerability. If Jesus built a community today, I think it would look something like a recovery community. After all, the first three steps are about surrender to a higher power and admitting you are powerless and your life has become unmanageable. Steps four through seven are about taking a fearless moral inventory of yourself. Steps eight and nine are about making amends and forgiveness, and steps ten through twelve are about prayer, meditation, and service to others.

Both men and women need a dose of recovery from our power-tripping egos, especially men. Many men around the world are socialized into a toxic practice of patriarchy which is harmful to men, women, and children. Jesus certainly speaks to all humanity, but as a man, his values highlight a new way of living in radical love, grace, humility, and service—a wholesome masculinity when practiced by men. The way of Jesus is a way of healing and recovery for our wounded lives and culture. Love God. Love your neighbor. Love your enemy.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Anxiety

Listen: “Free” by Florence + the Machine

If I am honest, I have to admit that I have always lived with a high degree of anxiety dating back to my childhood. My parents have told me about times when I was a young child and they would take me out to eat. They said I would often “get nervous and not eat anything.” Throughout my elementary, junior high, and high school career, I was a quiet kid. I had my close friends, but didn’t socialize much beyond those friends. I was voted the “Quietest” in my graduating class at Park Hill High School in Kansas City, Missouri.

At the age of sixteen, I had a spiritual encounter which resulted in me committing myself to follow Jesus and feeling called to serve Jesus in vocational ministry. I preached my first sermon at the age of seventeen and started the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at my high school. In my career as a pastor, much of my ministry required me to function as an extrovert: preaching, teaching, leading, serving, counseling, starting a church, managing a staff, fundraising, and facilitating missional work locally and around the world. I overcame many fears and insecurities, but I was most comfortable and at ease in the privacy of my own study: reading, studying, preparing messages, and working on various advanced degrees.

As an adult, I managed to present myself publicly as a confident speaker and leader; but privately, I struggled with what doctors now call “general anxiety disorder.” The most notable symptom of this disorder in my life was (and has been) insomnia. I found my favorite Bible verses which dealt with anxiety and memorized these verses, quoting them every night as I would try to sleep. “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, shall guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7; NASB). Or even a favorite of mine from Jesus: “But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness; and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious for tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:33-34; NASB).

I would pray through the night and recite these verses, but sleep would still escape me. My overactive amygdala would not shut down. No matter how much I prayed, my mind would just spin all night on things like a conflict, a rejection, a message, a new venture, or a past hurt. I finally gave up on sleep and just started reading through the night. I got a lot of reading done!

After almost thirty years of three to four hours of sleep a night, I finally went to a psychiatrist at the age of fifty-five. This led me to prescription Xanax and eventually I added alcohol on top of the Xanax. The combination of alcohol and Xanax wrecked my self-discipline and upended my life.

I have spent a huge amount of time trying to analyze my anxiety, considering all the genetic sources as well as the environmental sources (nurture and nature), but after all the analysis I still have to manage and live with my anxiety. The loss of my career, marriage, church community, finances, and the impact of all that on my faith has not produced easy, anxiety-free living!

I appreciate the work of Hilary Jacobs Hendel in her book, It’s Not Always Depression: Working the Change Triangle to Listen to the Body, Discover Core Emotions, and Connect to Your Authentic Self. She doesn’t provide a cure for anxiety, but gives a model for working with anxiety in a healthy way. Hendel builds on Family Systems theory and identifies core emotions (fear, anger, sadness, disgust, joy, excitement, sexual excitement), inhibitory emotions (anxiety, shame, guilt), defenses (anything we do to avoid emotions), and the seven C’s of the open hearted state of the authentic self (calm, curious, connected, compassionate, confident, courageous, and clear).

Most people have developed sophisticated techniques for suppressing core emotions through anxiety, shame, guilt, avoidance, and numbing. The suppression of emotions never works in the long run. We are far better served by listening to our emotions, naming our emotions, and understanding the purpose of our emotions. Most people have extremely poor training when it comes to emotional education and skills. People like Marc Brackett (author of Permission to Feel: Unlocking the Power of Emotions to Help Our Kids, Ourselves and Our Society Thrive) and Brené Brown are attempting to introduce emotional education in schools and workplaces.

I’ve come to grips with the reality that anxiety is going to be a traveling companion of mine for the rest of my life (s.o.b.), but I am learning to listen to it—listen to it with openness, curiosity, and non-judgmental, self-compassion. I have also discovered some practices in which I experience freedom from anxiety in the moment.

Exercise. Cycling or hiking in nature is a spiritual experience for me. The movement of my body through nature is healing to my mind and emotions.

Nature. I can also slow down in nature and find relief from anxiety in the moment. Focusing on a flower, a tree, a leaf, a bug, a bird, or a squirrel calms me. A few days ago I was journaling in nature, and I watched a ladybug crawl around on me for about thirty minutes. Watching the ladybug frantically move about my arms, legs, and journal ironically calmed my frantic mind.

Community. I am currently leading or participating in about ten groups. Most of these groups are spiritual support groups in which people are being open and vulnerable about their own fears, struggles, doubts, and questions. Humility, vulnerability, and honesty from people in community has helped calmed my own fears and anxieties as I realize I am not alone and I sense God at work in these groups.

Meditation and breath work. I have practiced deep breathing and meditation alone and in groups. It amazes me how much these exercises create awareness and help calm my fears and anxieties in the moment. I am learning and growing in these practices. I still pray all through the day and night, but I am more focused on awareness and surrender in prayer, or what some refer to as centering prayer.

Dancing and singing. I love to sing and dance, but I usually do it alone. I’m not good at either one, but they both calm my anxiety in the moment. Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine reflects on her own experience of anxiety in her song “Free.” Check out her music video with Bill Nighy (link above):

I hear the music

I feel the beat

And for the moment

When I’m dancing, I am free

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Embodied Spirituality

Listen: “Chandelier” by Sia

Tristan, the protagonist of the story “Legends of the Fall,” is said to have had “a good death.” Is there a good way to die and a bad way to die? Physically speaking, everybody has their opinion; but what about spiritually? All of the great faith traditions speak of the reality of an internal battle within us—a struggle between our best self and our false self, or “shadow boxing,” as some would call it. There is a part of our self, our ego, that is a “false self”—a persona built on a shaky foundation that needs to die or be transformed. There is also a “true self” that needs to emerge. The real you. (I opened with this paragraph in an earlier blog entitled, “False Self, True Self—A Good Death,” November 2, 2020, spiritualityadventures.com.)

Unfortunately, many of us adopted a form of disembodied spirituality, an approach which does not lead to “a good death.” This approach comes to us in large part from the Greek philosophical tradition. Most Greek philosophers viewed emotions (pathos), especially negative emotions, as something to be feared and conquered. For the Greeks, it was believed that God could not experience emotions and that emotions were dangerous for humans. Emotions, especially negative emotions, were incompatible with the dignity of the divine; likewise, humans should attempt to live a rational life over against an emotional life. Emotions pull us downward into the realm of evil spirits. Homer’s heroes interpreted negative emotions as a daemon who uses the human mind and body as its instrument. Xenocrates, a Stoic philosopher, taught that every emotion, especially sudden anger, is aroused by the evil spirits dwelling in the soul. (For an excellent discussion of this topic, see Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets, “The Philosophy of Pathos,” pp. 318-343.)

Emotions are experienced and stored in the body. All of our emotions, from joy to sadness, reside within our physical bodies. Learning to live with our emotions, listen to our emotions, experience all of our emotions, receive wisdom from our emotions, and heal from emotional pain, is the path of embodied spirituality.

If you grew up in the Christian tradition, you are aware of the Apostle Paul’s writings. He talks about dying to the “self” quite often. One of his classic discussions on this topic is Galatians 5. Paul writes, “The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants. And the Spirit gives us desires that are the opposite of what the sinful nature desires. These two forces are constantly fighting each other, so you are not free to carry out your good intentions” (Gal. 5:17). Then he describes the fruit of the sinful nature: “When you follow the desires of your sinful nature, the results are very clear: sexual immorality, impurity, lustful pleasures, idolatry, sorcery, hostility, quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambition, dissension, division, envy, drunkenness, wild parties, and other sins like these” (Gal. 5:19-21). Notice that the fruits of the sinful nature (or false self) are mostly a list of behaviors. According to Paul, these behaviors are symptomatic of the false self (sinful nature). They are not a list of core emotions (with the exception of anger, but the focus is on the outburst not the anger itself).

I think this is an important distinction that could lead to a good death or bad death of the false self. For decades I tried to “die to self” by suppressing, subduing, ignoring, or battling my negative emotions. I was thinking this was the way to “die” to bad behaviors. However, the opposite is true. One thing we have learned from psychologists like Hilary Jacobs Hendel: Suppressing negative emotions leads to a host of other issues like depression, anxiety, guilt, and shame. (See Hilary Jacobs Hendel, It’s Not Always Depression.)

Suppression is a form of disembodied spirituality, which does not result in emotional health or healing. This is not a good death spiritually or emotionally. Suppressing, ignoring, or fighting negative emotions does not work in the long run, and it causes a multitude of other problems. Numbing is another form of disembodied spirituality. People try to numb negative emotions while enhancing pleasurable emotions through substances. The problem is—you can’t selectively numb emotions with substances. A good death to the false self sets us free; it integrates and transforms us. A bad death just numbs us out and makes us more ill.

Paul in Galatians describes the struggle between the false self and the true self (something with which we intuitively identify), expounds on a list of symptomatic behaviors, and points to our resurrected true self as our hope. He does not provide a model for dealing with negative emotions. It’s possible that he was unduly influenced by the Stoics, or that he was focused on theology more than emotional healing.

For those who grew up in the Judeo/Christian traditions, the Psalms of lamentation are the best place in Scripture to learn how to deal with negative emotions (an approach which integrates well with modern psychology). There are about forty-two Psalms of lament in the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament). If you read through these Psalms you will see a pattern: invocation, complaint, request, hope, and praise. The complaints express every negative emotion in the human repertoire. (Hendel identifies core emotions as fear, anger, grief, excitement, disgust, and sexual excitement. The famous “Feeling Wheel” developed by Dr. Gloria Wilcox identifies core emotions as sad, mad, scared, peaceful, powerful, and joyful. Core emotions are hardwired in our brain and body. Hendel identifies inhibitory emotions as shame, guilt, and anxiety.) This pattern of expression of negative emotions is a healthy pattern. We need to learn to listen to our negative emotions and express them. We might share them with God, with our journal, with a friend or partner, with a support group, or with a therapist.

Mindfulness meditation is another resource for the practice of embodied spirituality. Through mindfulness meditation, I have learned to listen to my emotions with openness, curiosity, and self-compassion. It is important to hear and to understand our negative emotions. It’s also incredibly important to end up in a place of hope and gratitude as we express our negative emotions. That can take effort—even a daily gratitude list when we don’t feel grateful.

The Psalms of lament give us a healthy model for emotional expression. At times these psalms are messy and raw and vicious. They express doubt and anger towards God and others. They question God and challenge God. I have talked to many people who don’t like these psalms—they are too raw. But expressing emotions in appropriate contexts is so important for emotional, spiritual, and relational health. The individual and communal Psalms of lament make up almost a third of the book of Psalms. Jesus quoted from Psalm 22 on the cross. Even Jesus felt utterly abandoned by God and expressed it.

Healing comes by releasing negative emotions in a healthy way. Hendel gives a simple four step process which can be applied throughout the day: (1) pause and breath; (2) tune in and listen to your body; (3) Identify underlying core emotions and name each one; and (4) think through best actions. This is the work of embodied spirituality—processing emotions in a deep way through therapy, journaling, prayer, and meditation.

Our emotions will teach us important truths about ourselves. Even our negative emotions, if processed well, can lead us to positive change at work, at home, and at play. They have a purpose. I am learning how to live an embodied spirituality—but quite frankly—there are times in which I’d rather just beat up my negative emotions by suppressing, subduing, or conquering them. Sharing them makes me feel weak, but I’m telling myself that’s not a bad thing—feeling weak. It’s the beginning of “a good death.”

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

9/11 Memorial

Listen: “Empire State of Mind” by Jay-Z ft. Alicia Keys

I visited the 9/11 Memorial Park and Museum for the first time this past weekend (August 19, 2022). I walked up to the South Tower Pool and looked down at the names which are inscribed upon the stone wall surrounding the fountain of water: the names of the people who died in the South Tower on 9/11. The first name I looked at was Richard Herron Woodwell. I did a double take. There are over a thousand names inscribed around the South Pool honoring the lives of those who died, and the first name I see is Richard Herron Woodwell. My dad is Richard Lee Herron and I am Frederick Lee Herron. What a strange coincidence.

I took a picture and sent a text to my dad. As I was walking through the museum, I went into the exhibit in which they display the pictures of all who died. I specifically looked for Richard Herron Woodwell. As I was standing and looking at Richard Herron Woodwell’s picture, a couple next to me was talking about Richard. As I overheard them talking, I realized the guy was a friend of Richard. I introduced myself to the couple and told them about seeing Richard’s name inscribed on the South Pool. I told them it was the first name I noticed and that my dad is named Richard Herron. We both stood there and puzzled over the chances of that scenario actually happening. What a strange synchronicity.

I am not assuming I am related to Richard Herron Woodwell, but both my dad and I looked him up online. Richard was a graduate of Dartmouth (1979) and an investment banker working on the 89th floor of the World Trade Center Tower Two on September 11, 2001. On the tenth anniversary of 9/11, Jim Wasz, who was Dartmouth Class President of 1979, wrote a beautiful tribute to Richard Herron Woodwell (1979.Dartmouth.org). Maybe this blog will find its way to his surviving friends and family.

Seeing Richard Herron Woodwell’s name at the 9/11 memorial reminded me of how interconnected we are as humans. Sometimes it takes a tragedy like 9/11 to remind us of how connected we really are. Our nation feels so divided twenty-one years after 9/11, but the reality is that every human on the planet bears the image of God—we are touched with a divine spark. The nature of that divine spark is love. “God is love, and those who live in love live in God and God lives in them” (1 John 4:16).

I was reminded of this when I listened to the phone calls that were made from the passengers of hijacked United Airlines Flight 93 on 9/11. The 9/11 Museum has a room in which you can listen to all the calls which were made from that flight. Every call was a call to a loved one. Knowing that death was immanent, each passenger made calls to the ones they loved in order to express their love verbally one last time. Love unites us.

The other experience I had while I toured the 9/11 Museum was my own memories of 9/11. Twenty-one years ago on Tuesday, September 11, I was preparing a message for the grand opening Sunday service of Vineyard Church at our then new location on 169 highway. I had started small groups in 1990, and then launched our first Sunday morning service at Lakeview Middle School in September 1992. We had grown to about 400 people at the middle school by September 2001.

I was preparing a new grand opening series of messages on the topic of God’s love and grace. I was gleaning from Philip Yancey’s book, What’s So Amazing About Grace.
I wanted the church to be founded on extravagant grace and love.

On that Tuesday morning twenty-one years ago, I remember going downstairs and turning on the TV and seeing the second plane hit the second tower. I fell to my knees and began to cry. I rethought my message for the Sunday after 9/11 and stuck with the theme of love and grace. I thought our world needed it. I heard so many pastors in America spewing hatred towards all Muslims in the world and LGBTQ peoples in America. All I could think of were the words of Jesus to love our neighbors and our enemies. Violence does not heal violence. Hatred does not dispel darkness—only love can do that. We had over 800 people attend that grand opening service, doubling our attendance in one week.

Twenty-one years later, I still think we need extravagant love and grace to heal our own lives, our nation, and our world. Jesus’ life and message was saturated in extravagant love and grace. Let’s immerse ourselves in that life-giving stream.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Liminal Space

Listen: “Unconditional I (Lookout Kid) by Arcade Fire

I was recently hiking through Parkville Nature Sanctuary with a new friend, and I was describing the last three years of my life to him. He commented, “It’s like you are in a ‘liminal space’ in your life.” It’s not a term which I had used to describe my life, but as we discussed the meaning of the term it certainly fit. In architectural terms, it’s a transitional space between two locations, like a hallway or a foyer. In horror movies, it’s the frightening, suspense-filled spaces which create emotional tension in the plot line. Used psychologically, it’s an uncomfortable space in life which feels like an empty void or even death, but it holds a person on the precipice of a new beginning.

Richard Rohr compares a liminal experience to “the sign of Jonah” (Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer, pp. 43-55). Jonah was an ancient Hebrew prophet depicted in a fantastical ancient Hebrew story. The story is unusual in many respects, but two things stand out to me in relationship to this blog. Firstly, Jonah was called upon to deliver a message to the most vicious, bloodthirsty kingdom in the ancient Near Eastern world—The Assyrians. It would be comparable to a Jewish person called to deliver a moral message to the Nazi’s in Germany in 1936. Most Hebrew prophets were called to deliver messages to Jewish people. Jonah was called upon to deliver a message which held out hope for redemption and grace to one of Israel’s most despised enemies. The potential for grace and love for one’s enemies was an unusual message for a Hebrew prophet to deliver. Secondly, Jonah resisted the call to go to Nineveh (the capital of the ancient Assyrians) and ran in the opposite direction. This led Jonah to one of the most iconic liminal experiences contained in all of human literature—the belly of a whale.

That’s right. Jonah was so repulsed by the call that he hopped on a ship sailing in the opposite direction of Nineveh. A storm ensued—the imagery is magnificent—and the shipmates determined that Jonah was the cause so they threw him overboard and Jonah was swallowed by a whale. He spent three days in the belly of the whale before he was vomited up on the shore and called once again to go to Nineveh. Listen to the prayer which Jonah prayed from the belly of the whale:

I called out from my straits

   to the Lord, and He answered me.

From the belly of Sheol I cried out—

   you heard my voice.

You flung me into the deep, in the heart of the sea,

   and the current came round me.

All your breakers and waves

   streamed over me….

Water lapped about me to the neck,

   the deep came round me,

      weed was bound round my head (Jonah 2:3-6; Trans. by Robert Alter).

Liminal experiences create a void which only love and grace can fill. Liminal spaces in life can be created by our own choices (good or bad), the choices of others, or circumstances beyond our control. In these uncomfortable, painful experiences, our answers, our certainty, and our God seem to collapse around us—water is lapping around our neck, the deep is engulfing us, and we are adorned with rotting seaweed (paraphrase of Jonah’s prayer).

Richard Rohr gives some sage advice for the spiritual work to which we need to tend in liminal spaces:

1. We typically give answers too quickly, take away pain too easily, and too quickly stimulate and sooth ourselves. In terms of soul work, we dare not get rid of pain before we have learned what it has to teach us.

2. Jonah (and Jesus) shows us the mysterious pattern of transformation through death and rising. We must go inside the belly of the whale for a while. Then and only then will we be spit upon a shore and understand our call.

3. We must learn to stay with the pain of life, without answers, without conclusions, and some days without meaning. When we avoid darkness, we avoid tension, spiritual creativity, and finally transformation. In essence, we avoid God, who works in the darkness—where we are not in control! Maybe that is the secret: relinquishing control.

4. Simone Weil said, “It is grace that forms the void inside of us and it is grace alone that can fill the void.”

5. Everything belongs and everything can be received. We don’t have to deny, dismiss, defy, or ignore. What is, is okay. What is, is the great teacher.

I would not wish a lengthy, painful, liminal experience upon anyone. But, I have always desired to grow in love, to be transformed by love, and to be propelled by love. This motivates me to pause, to listen, and to learn all I can in this liminal, transitional experience of my life.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Old and New

Listen: “Brand New Sun” by Jason Lytle at SXSW 2009

Transitions in life are always challenging. They can be filled with childlike anticipation for a new adventure, or they can be laced with adult-like dread over a broken relationship. Sometimes it’s a mixture of both. Positive transitions include starting a new degree, a new relationship, a new job, a new geographical move, a new career, a new marriage, a new faith journey, a new child, or a new grandchild. Painful transitions may involve a debilitating injury, an illness, a death of a love one, a divorce, an addiction, a career loss, a financial loss, or a loss of faith and community.

Transitions always involve reflection on our past and anticipation of our future. Some transitional situations can lead us to question past assumptions, beliefs, and perspectives while leading us to embrace new beliefs, perspectives, and opportunities.

In transition, we hold on and we let go. We access treasures of wisdom which are old and new. We discard beliefs and perspectives which have been harmful, and we discover new beliefs and perspectives which inspire love and hope for the future.

When I started Vineyard Church of Kansas City, Missouri in 1990, it was a transitional time in my life—one that involved fear and excitement, pain and opportunity. I grew up in a Southern Baptist Church and felt called to full-time Christian ministry as a sixteen year old within that context. I earned degrees from Baptists institutions in preparation for my ministry career (Baylor University and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary). Over the course of my studies, I came to embrace some theological positions which were not considered mainstream in Southern Baptist circles. When I graduated from Seminary, I applied with the Baptist Home Mission Board to be a new church developer. I was rejected and turned down because of my “fringe” beliefs. It was painful at the time because I had developed a large network of friends and family in that faith community.

This rejection ultimately led me to the Vineyard church movement, which was more non-traditional and progressive than my Southern Baptist heritage (though still conservative in some ways). I remember when I was starting Vineyard Church in the Northland of Kansas City, Missouri that some of my old Southern Baptist friends thought I was starting a cult group. This was painful, but I pressed ahead—holding on to some of the old, letting go of some of the old, and embracing some new beliefs and practices. I remember one pastor from a neighboring church even preached a whole series of messages against my “heretical beliefs” (so amusing now).

As I founded, pastored, and developed Vineyard Church over the next twenty-nine years (1990-2019), Vineyard Church became one of the fastest growing churches in America. My Southern Baptist friends and colleagues stopped calling me a cult leader (thankfully), instead they called me a progressive Evangelical or a British Evangelical. (I guess because British Evangelicals are more progressive?) Depending on who was saying it, that was either a good thing or a bad thing. I was always growing and changing, but I was secure in who I was as a person.

Now I find myself in the midst of another transition in life. It’s easily the most difficult and challenging transition I have ever experienced. Like all transitions, I am evaluating my past and looking forward to my future. I am holding on to some of the old, letting go of some of the old, and embracing some new beliefs and practices. Here are some old and new treasures in my current transition:

Jesus (who is ever old and new). I started following Jesus when I was sixteen, and I have always found his life and teachings to be full of wisdom and insight. Jesus was a Torah teacher, and I have spent my life studying and gleaning from the Hebrew tradition of this radical rabbi from Galilee. Jesus understood the importance of renewing old traditions. Old traditions can become worn out, brittle, and even harmful. Jesus was a radical reformer of a beautiful, ancient Hebrew tradition. Jesus said, “Therefore every scribe [or student of Torah] who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like a master of a house, who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old” (Matthew 13:52; ESV). Jesus taught that all of us are called upon to examine, question, and renew the traditions which have been handed down to us.

Grace. I have always approached life through a grace-based lens—affirming the essential dignity of humanity (imago dei), forgiving faults, and fostering grace-based, transformational communities. After what I have gone through the last few years, I am even more radically committed to grace-base living. Everyone needs to receive grace and forgiveness, and everyone needs to give grace and forgiveness to others. Most of our inherited religious traditions from around the world are full of shame-based and fear-based beliefs and practices. These need to be examined, questioned, and renewed. Grace-based living is the only way to fly.

Friends and Family. I am so thankful for true friends and family. They stick with you when you are down, when you have lost everything, when you are are questioning everything, and when you aren’t sure where to turn. You find out who truly loves and practices grace. I’m also grateful for new friends who have connected with me in my deepest valley.

Recovery. I can’t say enough about the recovery community. This community lives out the heart of Jesus better than most churches I have ever seen, read, or experienced. (The church has so much to learn!) I have been in the recovery community for almost three years. I have grown to love the honesty, vulnerability, humility, and spirituality of this community. My life will never be the same because of my experience, connection, and involvement with the Twelve Step Recovery community. I’m so grateful.

Core values. I think of core values as a guide for the kind of person we want to be and become. It’s not a set of doctrines about what we believe or don’t believe about God. It’s a set of values to which we aspire—like the pursuit and practice of love, beauty, goodness, peacemaking, forgiveness, community, and social justice. I revisit my top ten core values periodically, and they have remained consistent throughout much of my adult life.

Meditation. When I experienced my worst moments of depression and humiliation, I found help in a couple of therapy models—DBT and Family Systems. The DBT model introduced me to mindfulness meditation. I have been learning to practice mindfulness meditation for a couple of years. With my overactive brain and my inner critic, I have needed to learn some new approaches to meditation. Mindfulness meditation is a growing practice of awareness, radical acceptance, and embracing the moment.

Growth groups. I am grateful for people who desire to grow spiritually through in-person groups, zoom groups, and community events. I realize I am still a pastor at heart, and I am called to foster spiritual growth and transformation through groups and community. We need each other, and we are not alone in our struggles, pains, and transitions. I lead and participate in several types of growth groups, so please let me know if you would like to join me in a group for spiritual growth.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Love and the Rocky Mountains

Listen: “Rocky Mountain High” by John Denver

I’ve had a forty-five year love affair with the Rocky Mountains. My parents drove me and my three sisters across I-70 from Kansas City to Colorado when I was fifteen years old. It was love at first sight. I have now driven (or flown) to Colorado every year since, at least once and sometimes as many as three times a year. It’s my home away from home, and the place where I find my most sacred communion with nature and God.

I have run (distance running), biked (road, mountain, gravel), fly fished, backpacked, hiked, rock climbed, snow shoed, cross-country skied, camped, mountain climbed, observed nature, four-wheeled, and observed nature in various parts of the Rocky Mountains—Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, Utah, and New Mexico—but Colorado is my go to. I have thousands of cherished memories from these trips with friends, family, and solo. I have always felt closest to God when I am in the Rocky Mountains.

People have asked me through the years: “Why don’t you move to the Rocky Mountains?” I’ve never had a great answer except to say: (1) I never felt led by God to move to the Rocky Mountains due to my sense of calling; and (2) I never wanted to lose the sense of romance I have when I go to the Rocky Mountains. I never wanted the beauty of the Rocky Mountains to become ordinary or to be taken for granted. Every time I see the mountains, my childlike wonder and endorphins kick into overdrive. It’s one of my “thin places,” where the veil between heaven and earth seems to disappear.

As I am writing this blog (July 2022), I am in the Rocky Mountains near Breckenridge, Colorado. During my morning meditation, I was reading a devotional book by Richard Rohr entitled, Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer. Richard opens chapter two, “Vision of Enchantment,” with a quote from Fyodor Dostoyevsky in The Brothers Karamazov:

Love people even in their sin, for that is the semblance of Divine Love and is the highest love on earth. Love all of God’s creation, the whole and every grain of sand of it. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.

Wow! I love that. In fact, my new favorite Bible verse is 1 John 4:16: “God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them” (NLT). It’s that simple. Love is the story. Everything else is footnotes.

Lean into what invokes love within you. Embrace what expands love in your heart. Hang out with people, visit places, and immerse yourself in experiences which enhance love.

A few days ago, I went on a hike with some friends on Peak Trail which meanders over the mountain between Frisco and Breckenridge, Colorado. Several mountain flowers were in full bloom. I took a few pictures of a lavender Arctic Lupine, a pastel purple Aspen Fleabane, and a pink Wood Rose. Mountain flowers have always intrigued me. These gorgeous flowers bloom in the high mountain country around the world, most of them never seen by a human eye. But the mountain bees see them, and so do the elk and moose grazing in a high mountain meadow. Creativity adorns itself with beauty. Love is woven in the tapestry of the Universe. It blooms and fades. Do you see it? Feel it? Smell it? Hear it? Taste it? Are you attentive to it? Do you embrace it and become of disseminator of it?

They have no speech, they use no words;

   no sound is heard from them.

Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,

   their words to the ends of the world (Psalm 19:3-4; NIV).

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022

Church

Listen: “Take Me to Church” by Hozier

The “church” as a Christian, religious institution has been on decline in America for seven straight decades and the decline has accelerated in the last two decades. Even though the institutional church is in decline (and I was someone who helped start new churches in America and around the world), I have noticed that “church” as a metaphor is still used for experiences which people love or value—things like sex, hanging out with friends, going to a recovery meeting, or experiencing something transcendent. I celebrate the way in which “church” as a metaphor is emerging in our culture. Some of the metaphors are actually important aspects of what “church” was originally intended to be.

Take Me to Church. On September 13, 2013, Irish singer-songwriter Hozier release a debut single entitled “Take Me to Church.” When Hozier wrote and recorded the song in the attic of his parent’s home in County Wicklow, he was a struggling musician. The song eventually achieved widespread global popularity topping the charts in over twelve countries. In the U.S., the song spent 23 consecutive weeks at the top of the Hot Rock Songs chart and tied with Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive” as the longest running number-one song in that chart’s history at the time. The song was nominated for the Grammy Award Song of the Year and was certified six-times platinum.

The first time I heard this song, I was intrigued by its lyrics and use of religious imagery for sexual love. Hozier sings:

My church offers no absolutes

She tells me, “Worship in the bedroom”

The only Heaven I’ll be sent to

Is when I’m alone with you

Take me to church

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Offer me that deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life

Hozier describes falling in love—both the sense in which you wonderfully die to yourself and give of yourself to another in sexual love—like an act of worship in church. This is not the first time “church” has been used as a metaphor for sexual love. Christian mystics have interpreted the Old Testament book of “Song of Songs,” which celebrates sexual love, as a metaphor for a spiritual union with God. The Apostle Paul in Ephesians chapter five uses the union of marriage as a metaphor for the union of Christ and the church—Jesus is the groom and the church is the bride. Sex is sacred. It can be abused like all good gifts, but church should celebrate healthy sexual expression, instead of disseminating of shame-based sexual ethics.

My Church. In January of 2016 country music singer, Maren Morris, released the single “My Church,” co-written and co-produced by busbee. The song won Best Country Solo Performance and was nominated for a Grammy Award Best Country Song.

The song uses “church” as a metaphor for the transcendent experience Maren feels when she is driving down the road listening to her favorite country songs blasting on her Highway FM radio. Maren sings:

I’ve cussed on a Sunday

I’ve cheated and I’ve lied

I’ve fallen down from grace

A few too many times

But I find holy redemption

When I put this car in drive

Roll the windows down and turn up the dial

Can I get a hallelujah

Can I get an amen

Feels like the Holy Ghost running through ya

When I play the highway FM

I find my soul revival

Singing every single verse

Yeah I guess that’s my church

When Hank brings the sermon

And Cash leads the choir

It gets my cold cold heart burning

Hotter than a ring of fire

When this world gets heavy

And I need to find my escape

I just keep the wheels rolling, radio scrolling

‘Til my sins wash away

An experience with transcendence, the divine, or oneness with the universe can happen anywhere. Moses found holy ground at a burning bush. Jesus said that the location of worship wasn’t important, but the heart of the worshipper is: “For God is Spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth” (John 4:24; NLT). Any place can become a sacred space, like Parkville Nature Sanctuary, a Sigur Ros concert, or a ride in your car. Church is about experiencing the sacred and transcendent.

Starting Over. American rapper Macklemore has written about the struggles of addiction and recovery in his songs “Otherside” and “Starting Over.” In the song “Starting Over,” Macklemore writes about his relapse after three years of sobriety. Macklemore raps about attending a meeting and starting over:

Somebody stops me and says “Are you Macklemore?”

“Maybe this isn’t the place or time, I just wanted to say that

“If it wasn’t for ‘Otherside’ I wouldn’t have made it

I just looked down at the ground and say “Thank you”

She tells me she has 9 months and that she’s so grateful

Tears in her eyes lookin’ like she’s gonna cry, f***

I barely got forty-eight hours

There are over 100,000 AA groups around the world. That’s not counting the Twelve Step groups for other issues like narcotics, gambling, overeating, co-dependency, and sexual addiction. There are millions of people worldwide who have not felt comfortable going to church when they are in trouble. Many people view church as a “holier-than-thou, self-righteous, judgmental” place. When I was pastoring a church, I always encouraged people to come to church if they were struggling with a crisis or addiction. I had many people tell me that’s the last place they would go for fear they would be judged. However, people have found hope and healing in small meetings around the world which are based in rigorous honesty, humility, and vulnerability.

Why is this the case? People go to church for many different reasons. For some, it’s just a social club—full of fake smiles and plastic faces. No one shows up at an AA meeting (or any type of recovery meeting) with a fake smile. Their “ass is on fire” and they are close to losing everything. They are in desperate need of help, and they are looking for people who will love them, identify with them, and give them hope for a better life. The beginning point is utter brokenness, humility, honesty, and vulnerability. I am quite certain that this is the kind of “church” Jesus himself had in mind when he envisioned his church.

Crowded Table. In 2019, Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires formed The Highwoman. One of my favorite songs on their self-titled debut album is “Crowded Table.” It’s a song about loving, grace-based community:

You can hold my hand

When you need to let go

I can be your mountain

When you’re feeling valley-low

I can be your streetlight

Showing you the way home

You can hold my hand

When you need to let go

I want a house with a crowded table

And a place by the fire for everyone

Let us take on the world while we’re young and able

And bring us back together when the day is done

The door is always open

Your picture’s on my wall

Everyone’s a little broken

And everyone belongs

Yeah, everyone belongs

This is the kind of community in which Jesus himself participated and gathered. The ancient conception of “church” in both the Old (Hebrew word qahal) and New Testament (Greek word ecclesia) is not a building or an institution. It’s a gathering of people for the purpose of growing spiritually and supporting each other in loving, grace-based friendship. I think we all long for connection with our true self, connection with loving, grace-based community, and connection with something transcendent and greater than ourselves. This is “church” at its best.

Shalom

©realfredherron, 2022