When I was younger than I am
now, I used to hope that spiritual health was something that I could simply
acquire, like a new book or a fine meal. Although I had grown up hearing that
the spiritual journey is lifelong and to reflect on strength to go the
distance, I was some time into renewing my spiritual life before I really
grasped that I had responsibility for my spiritual health. Barring a miracle
that I was a new prophet or sage, I wasn’t going to have one moment or
experience that healed me and kept me spiritually healthy. Practicing spiritual
responsibility was something I needed to attend to every day. Over the course
of time, I’ve been able to embrace that practicing spiritual responsibility
means following a regular course of practices, and adding to that course in
times of greater difficulty and danger.
We are who and what we are.
We have the experiences we have. We come from the cultures we do and live with
all the gifts and diseases of the cultures we carry and inhabit. We have the
waste of our lives and there is nothing and nobody that will can haul that
waste away. There may be folks who promise that will happen, but when I listen
and follow those folks, mostly what I see and hear are ways to enter the paths
of practicing responsibility – which you have to do – or denial and false
promises, because you still have the stuff we like to pretend we don’t.
The lotus arises from the
muck – an image that is fruitful in Buddhist thought. When God answers Job, one
of the striking things God says is: “The lotuses conceal the Holy in their
shadows; the poplars embrace the Holy in their shade.” (Job 40:22) What can be
overwhelming waste can also be transformed into nourishment for the fruits and
flowers of our spirits, but we have to tend that stuff to get the business
transformed into nutrient-rich muck. Practicing spiritual responsibility begins
with recognizing that reality and tending what I think of as our spiritual
compost. Practices – for me, prayer, singing, meditation, study – are how I
turn that heap of stuff over for the rain of grace and the sun of mercy and the
blessings of transformation – change that detritus into nourishing compost.
There are days I would like
someone else to clean up my broken and used bits, but if I don’t attend to it
then there will simply be more later. It is like physical exercise. Thinking
about doing it and promising to exercise are all very well, but unless we
actually go and exercise, we don’t work our muscles or our cardiovascular
system or all the other important aspects of our being that are changed by
exercise. And if we don’t make that physical exercise a regular practice, every
time we do bother to try again, we can become easily tired and discouraged by
the lack of instant results.
Regular prayer spaced over
the course of my days and nights means I can’t be very far away from my
spiritual refuse. Creating a spiritual refuge means I need to cart that stuff
out and give it air and light and rain and sun. One of the practices marking
Islam is making salat five times a day. These are the prescribed prayers. Other
prayers may be offered, but pausing to give thanks and turn toward the center
of Life five times a day is a basic Muslim practice. Most religious traditions
have prescriptions and traditions for how often to turn away from being
consumed by life’s details to the practices of transformation. Arising out of
ancient Jewish prayer practices of pausing seven times a day, the Christian
practice of praying the hours turns out culturally to fit me well. I make time
for at least five of the seven offices, but in troubled times, invariably I’m
awake or awaken myself for all seven. I didn’t start that way. I started with
daily prayer and then twice daily longer prayer sessions, but that was insufficient
and meant I wasn’t able to stay present with the now. So I went back to study
and appreciate a different format that has worked for a very long time for a
great many people. It wasn’t simple and it isn’t always easy (although it is
easier than what happens if I don’t). But the rewards have been well worth the
effort.
However, when I first
started regular practice again, and each time I have shifted my practice into a
higher gear (spiritual mountaintops are rugged soulscapes) I have
resented and rebelled against what I’ve needed to do. The only thing that has propelled
me along is that I have enough health to know when I’m not doing enough. Fortunately,
I don’t believe religion is supposed to make me comfortable. I do believe we
are to meet and grow in our discomfort, a belief I came by because I kept
meeting discomfort and avoiding it. Tending that discomfort, I learn a lot of
things, I nurture my empathy for others who suffer, and I develop greater
patience and resilience. Results will vary, depending on what your spiritual
issues are.
Spiritual health is a life long endeavor, viewed from afar, a daunting
journey. But we need not stay in that perspective. We can break it down, one
moment of practice at a time, this hour for these ten minutes, and then that
one, pausing at each as a stage in the pilgrimage, an oasis for renewal,
encouragement, and hope as we meet our demons and find our friends
