“I once was lost, but now am found; was blind but now I see.”
-John Newton
Wintley Phipps, pastor, reknowned vocal artist, and founder of the U.S. Dream Academy recently made the observation that virtually all great “Negro spirituals” can be played on the five black notes of the piano. This “slave scale” was the basis of West African sorrow chants, routinely sung by slaves in captivity.
Phipps goes on to make the connection that arguably the greatest of all “White spirituals,” Amazing Grace, can also be played on the five black notes. Accident? No way. Before John Newton wrote this hymn that both acknowledges human brokenness and celebrates divine mercy he spent years as a slave ship captain. He most certainly heard this sorrow chant, again and again as he sailed back and forth from Africa to England with his human cargo…and he took this melody in, what it conveyed about pain and dignity, and it went deep. So deep that Newton had a profound and lasting conversion, became an Anglican priest, and spent the rest of his days as a powerful voice in the Abolitionist movement.
The slave scale became the melody of his hymn, and his life.
Much is made of the psychological material we all carry with us from losses, traumas, and mistakes; fears, biases, resentments, blind spots.
But what of the material we take in that changes us for the good, turns us toward healing and wholeness, compels us to serve others?
Everything can be useful; the good, the bad, and the ugly. This is the motto of the virtue of accommodation.
The virtue of accommodation is practiced when you take in new information that challenges old information, and are moved to “update” the files you’ve stored in your heart and your mind; your outdated ways of looking at the world, self, and others. And you become a better person.
New people speak to you, new struggles speak to you, new stories speak to you…maybe even a West African sorrow chant will speak to you. And in this new information you hear a deeper truth, a truth that illuminates where you are and where you need to go. Of course “new” doesn’t necessarily mean “better.” That’s where accommodation as a virtue comes in.
The virtue of accommodation breaks down barriers in our minds and hearts, and this can sometimes be painful. Many would like to continue on the well-worn, rutted path of familiarity and status-quo: “I’ve always done it this way,” “This is what I know,” “People might get angry.”
So much of growing up is about knowing what you need to hold onto and what you need to let go of; what works for you, and what is getting in the way of your work. Accommodation is essential to this process.
“I once was lost but now am found; was blind but now I see.”
John Newton practiced the virtue of accommodation. He opened up to new information, to new and deeper truth, took it in…and found himself. This is possible for us too, every day.
An amazing grace indeed.
I wish you all a most blessed Holy Week.
Questions for reflection:
Why does the virtue of accommodation matter?
Who models the virtue of accommodation for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of accommodation?
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Saturday, March 24, 2012
An unmarked grave: The virtue of zeal
“Do now, do now what you will wish to have done when your moment comes to die.”
-St. Angela Merici
One of the dangers in writing about virtue is that in an effort to bring this all-important concept to life, other-worldly figures are used as models. This can leave one feeling more than a little inadequate, and doubtful about ever being truly “virtuous.” So, in honor of what would have been his 100th year of life, I present my grandfather Wesley Hugh Gates. He was not perfect, he was not a genius, he did not go to church daily and pray hourly, no school was named after him, and he never won the Nobel peace prize. If you saw him on the street you wouldn’t look twice, might not even look once. He was pretty typical, except for the way he cared.
When he was six years-old, my grandfather was awakened one morning by hammering. He took his little brother by the hand and together they walked into the kitchen to find their father building a coffin. My gandfather’s fifteen year-old sister had died in the middle of the night. She had been sick with the measles, and then she was gone. The family buried her in an unmarked grave because they didn’t have the money for a grave marker. And they never spoke of her again.
Of course my grandfather never forgot about his sister, and the way his family could not properly honor her life. But he knew he needed to do more than just remember. So when he was old enough, he returned to that old country graveyard in eastern Oklahoma, sifted through the burial records, and found her grave. He then paid for a proper marker for her. Why? Because it was the right thing to do.
Zeal comes from the Latin word for “eager.” It’s not about crazy religiosity, or intolerance. It’s about an eagerness to do the right thing, not because you should but because you can!
Zeal is an awareness of, a caring for, and a commitment to fulfilling the duties and obligations one owes others. Duties and obligations due others? Really?
I don’t think there’s a sickness that better describes our culture than sloth, that spiritual laziness that numbs us, feeds self-obsession and selfishness and effectively isolates us from others…and from our authentic selves.
Zeal does to sloth what a lit blow-torch does to tissue paper.
“Do now, do now what you will wish to have done when your moment comes to die.”
My grandfather cared in exceptional ways about doing the right thing by others, and for others. He raised my mother to live with zeal, and she raised me in that same spirit. And my life is infinitely richer as a result.
I am grateful for my mother, and for my grandfather, and for that dusty cemetary where a young girl was quietly laid to rest in an unmarked grave.
Questions for reflection:
What do you owe others?
Who models the virtue of zeal for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of zeal?
-St. Angela Merici
One of the dangers in writing about virtue is that in an effort to bring this all-important concept to life, other-worldly figures are used as models. This can leave one feeling more than a little inadequate, and doubtful about ever being truly “virtuous.” So, in honor of what would have been his 100th year of life, I present my grandfather Wesley Hugh Gates. He was not perfect, he was not a genius, he did not go to church daily and pray hourly, no school was named after him, and he never won the Nobel peace prize. If you saw him on the street you wouldn’t look twice, might not even look once. He was pretty typical, except for the way he cared.
When he was six years-old, my grandfather was awakened one morning by hammering. He took his little brother by the hand and together they walked into the kitchen to find their father building a coffin. My gandfather’s fifteen year-old sister had died in the middle of the night. She had been sick with the measles, and then she was gone. The family buried her in an unmarked grave because they didn’t have the money for a grave marker. And they never spoke of her again.
Of course my grandfather never forgot about his sister, and the way his family could not properly honor her life. But he knew he needed to do more than just remember. So when he was old enough, he returned to that old country graveyard in eastern Oklahoma, sifted through the burial records, and found her grave. He then paid for a proper marker for her. Why? Because it was the right thing to do.
Zeal comes from the Latin word for “eager.” It’s not about crazy religiosity, or intolerance. It’s about an eagerness to do the right thing, not because you should but because you can!
Zeal is an awareness of, a caring for, and a commitment to fulfilling the duties and obligations one owes others. Duties and obligations due others? Really?
I don’t think there’s a sickness that better describes our culture than sloth, that spiritual laziness that numbs us, feeds self-obsession and selfishness and effectively isolates us from others…and from our authentic selves.
Zeal does to sloth what a lit blow-torch does to tissue paper.
“Do now, do now what you will wish to have done when your moment comes to die.”
My grandfather cared in exceptional ways about doing the right thing by others, and for others. He raised my mother to live with zeal, and she raised me in that same spirit. And my life is infinitely richer as a result.
I am grateful for my mother, and for my grandfather, and for that dusty cemetary where a young girl was quietly laid to rest in an unmarked grave.
Questions for reflection:
What do you owe others?
Who models the virtue of zeal for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of zeal?
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Letting go: The virtue of forgiveness
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”
-Lewis B. Smedes
During the occupation of Holland, an exemplary woman named Corrie Ten Boom and her equally amazing family joined the Dutch underground, and hid Jews from the Nazis. They did so by building a secret room at the top of their home, and for almost two years dozens of men, women, and children were sheltered from death there. Eventually, though, the Ten Booms were betrayed by a neighbor and imprisoned. Corrie and her sister Betsie were sent to the concentration camp at Ravensbruck. Corrie would survive the hell, but Betsie would not. Corrie’s response? To preach about forgiveness...everywhere...especially in Germany.
So it was not coincidental that Corrie was speaking at a Sunday church service in post-war Munich in 1947. She had just finished addressing the congregation and was leaving when she noticed a man headed directly toward her. She knew him immediately as one of the prison guards who had stood watch in the processing area of the camp, by where the women entered for their initial showers. In The Hiding Place she writes that the man smiled and thanked her for her message, and then reached out his hand and asked for her forgiveness. In that split second, all the anger, trauma, shame, fear, and memories of Ravensbruck came rushing back, and she froze. Naturally. Most of us wouldn’t have had the courage to even go back to Germany, let alone preach about forgiveness there. Corrie was already heroic, for God’s sake.
But to be asked to forgive any Nazi, let alone one who had personally persecuted her and her sister? Are you serious? The former guard didn’t remember Corrie, but she couldn’t forget him. And go figure, she didn’t exactly feel like forgiving this particular man on this particular Sunday.
But Corrie realized that the virtue of forgiveness is not about feeling, and does not pick and choose its recipients. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and it has to be offered to all. She knew that if she was not able to forgive this man, she would always remain a prisoner…free from Ravensbruck but not from the pain, the evil, the cruelty of Ravensbruck. So with tears running down her cheeks she took his hand in hers, and forgave him. And all the angels in Heaven bowed in admiration.
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”
Forgiveness is a grace that can happen all at once, but more often than not it’s a process-miracle that happens in stages. And the more it’s practiced the more it becomes a virtue, and not just an isolated victory for good. Forgiveness does not ever ask you to forget, but it does ask you to let go; let go of any chance of sweet revenge on another, or just repayment by another, or proper response from another. Because in the end, forgiveness is not about the other…it’s about you. And you forgive because it’s good for you.
Forgiveness is not easy. In fact, it’s arguably the most difficult virtue of all to practice, let alone acquire. But ask yourself how much you want to love, how free you’d like to be, and how prison life is really working for you?
Questions for reflection:
Are you good at forgiving?
Who models the virtue of forgiveness for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of forgiveness?
-Lewis B. Smedes
During the occupation of Holland, an exemplary woman named Corrie Ten Boom and her equally amazing family joined the Dutch underground, and hid Jews from the Nazis. They did so by building a secret room at the top of their home, and for almost two years dozens of men, women, and children were sheltered from death there. Eventually, though, the Ten Booms were betrayed by a neighbor and imprisoned. Corrie and her sister Betsie were sent to the concentration camp at Ravensbruck. Corrie would survive the hell, but Betsie would not. Corrie’s response? To preach about forgiveness...everywhere...especially in Germany.
So it was not coincidental that Corrie was speaking at a Sunday church service in post-war Munich in 1947. She had just finished addressing the congregation and was leaving when she noticed a man headed directly toward her. She knew him immediately as one of the prison guards who had stood watch in the processing area of the camp, by where the women entered for their initial showers. In The Hiding Place she writes that the man smiled and thanked her for her message, and then reached out his hand and asked for her forgiveness. In that split second, all the anger, trauma, shame, fear, and memories of Ravensbruck came rushing back, and she froze. Naturally. Most of us wouldn’t have had the courage to even go back to Germany, let alone preach about forgiveness there. Corrie was already heroic, for God’s sake.
But to be asked to forgive any Nazi, let alone one who had personally persecuted her and her sister? Are you serious? The former guard didn’t remember Corrie, but she couldn’t forget him. And go figure, she didn’t exactly feel like forgiving this particular man on this particular Sunday.
But Corrie realized that the virtue of forgiveness is not about feeling, and does not pick and choose its recipients. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and it has to be offered to all. She knew that if she was not able to forgive this man, she would always remain a prisoner…free from Ravensbruck but not from the pain, the evil, the cruelty of Ravensbruck. So with tears running down her cheeks she took his hand in hers, and forgave him. And all the angels in Heaven bowed in admiration.
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”
Forgiveness is a grace that can happen all at once, but more often than not it’s a process-miracle that happens in stages. And the more it’s practiced the more it becomes a virtue, and not just an isolated victory for good. Forgiveness does not ever ask you to forget, but it does ask you to let go; let go of any chance of sweet revenge on another, or just repayment by another, or proper response from another. Because in the end, forgiveness is not about the other…it’s about you. And you forgive because it’s good for you.
Forgiveness is not easy. In fact, it’s arguably the most difficult virtue of all to practice, let alone acquire. But ask yourself how much you want to love, how free you’d like to be, and how prison life is really working for you?
Questions for reflection:
Are you good at forgiving?
Who models the virtue of forgiveness for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of forgiveness?
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Working out: The virtue of industriousness
“We work to become, not to acquire.”
-Elbert Hubbard
Bill Porter was born with cerebral palsy, in a world that is forever underestimating the power of the human spirit. Fortunately, his parents did not. They valued their son’s dignity, as well as the dignity of work. So when the time came for him to get a job Porter got busy looking. He never considered going on disability a viable option, although he certainly met the medical requirements. He had great difficulty walking, struggled with chronic pain, and spoke with a speech impediment.
His greatest obstacle, though, was not his physical health, but the perceptions of would-be employers. So after years of hearing the message that he was unemployable, he naturally chose to be a door-to-door salesman. I kid you not.
The Watkins Company in Portland, Oregon gave him a chance, and that’s all he needed. For forty years Porter walked seven to ten miles a day, five days a week, knocking on doors, cold-calling potential customers, selling a variety of home care products…for forty years. That in itself is worthy of celebration; the fact that he became the company’s top salesman is icing on the cake.
Bill Porter will tell you on his website that at almost 80 years-old now he is no longer able to walk his route, but is still working and growing his business thanks to the internet.
There’s this strange confusion that exists for many about work; that it is a curse, a burden we must all bear until we finally reach retirement and can afford to stop working. But the virtue of industriousness redefines (or better, reclaims) what work really is.
Industriousness says that work is about starting and finishing tasks with diligence. With diligence? At first this sounds a bit compulsive, but consider what diligence means; “to love, to appreciate, to choose after careful consideration and attention.” Love through your work, appreciate through your work, and carefully consider and attend through your work.
The virtue of industriousness is about working to become, not just to acquire. And the virtue of industriousness insures that our work, in our professional lives and in our personal lives, will give us a sense of dignity and true self-worth.
Bill Porter did not have to “work,” in the narrowest sense of the word. He could have sat at home and collected disability checks. He had several built-in excuses. But he understood that he needed to work, not to survive but to thrive. So do we all. Work is the arena where all virtues can be developed, where we can change, and where we can change the world.
If you’re seeing work as a 40 hour a week grind, and part of a 40 year prison sentence, consider the industrious life of Bill Porter. And then truly get to work!
Questions for reflection:
What does “work” mean to you?
Who models the virtue of industriousness for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of industriousness?
-Elbert Hubbard
Bill Porter was born with cerebral palsy, in a world that is forever underestimating the power of the human spirit. Fortunately, his parents did not. They valued their son’s dignity, as well as the dignity of work. So when the time came for him to get a job Porter got busy looking. He never considered going on disability a viable option, although he certainly met the medical requirements. He had great difficulty walking, struggled with chronic pain, and spoke with a speech impediment.
His greatest obstacle, though, was not his physical health, but the perceptions of would-be employers. So after years of hearing the message that he was unemployable, he naturally chose to be a door-to-door salesman. I kid you not.
The Watkins Company in Portland, Oregon gave him a chance, and that’s all he needed. For forty years Porter walked seven to ten miles a day, five days a week, knocking on doors, cold-calling potential customers, selling a variety of home care products…for forty years. That in itself is worthy of celebration; the fact that he became the company’s top salesman is icing on the cake.
Bill Porter will tell you on his website that at almost 80 years-old now he is no longer able to walk his route, but is still working and growing his business thanks to the internet.
There’s this strange confusion that exists for many about work; that it is a curse, a burden we must all bear until we finally reach retirement and can afford to stop working. But the virtue of industriousness redefines (or better, reclaims) what work really is.
Industriousness says that work is about starting and finishing tasks with diligence. With diligence? At first this sounds a bit compulsive, but consider what diligence means; “to love, to appreciate, to choose after careful consideration and attention.” Love through your work, appreciate through your work, and carefully consider and attend through your work.
The virtue of industriousness is about working to become, not just to acquire. And the virtue of industriousness insures that our work, in our professional lives and in our personal lives, will give us a sense of dignity and true self-worth.
Bill Porter did not have to “work,” in the narrowest sense of the word. He could have sat at home and collected disability checks. He had several built-in excuses. But he understood that he needed to work, not to survive but to thrive. So do we all. Work is the arena where all virtues can be developed, where we can change, and where we can change the world.
If you’re seeing work as a 40 hour a week grind, and part of a 40 year prison sentence, consider the industrious life of Bill Porter. And then truly get to work!
Questions for reflection:
What does “work” mean to you?
Who models the virtue of industriousness for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of industriousness?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Sticks and stones: The virtue of compassion
"Compassionate action involves working with ourselves as much as working with others.”
-Pema Chodron
I just finished reading Rush Limbaugh’s apology to Sandra Fluke for calling her a “slut.” She is the law student who recently attempted to advocate for affordable health care coverage of contraception, he is the bombastic talk-show host who blew an opportunity to engage in meaningful dialogue about an important issue.
I’m glad he apologized, even if it was probably motivated by fleeing sponsors and growing public outrage. I wish ALL public figures, regardless of political affiliation, were held equally accountable for using hurtful, abusive, demeaning language (I’m thinking now of Bill Maher, who sits at the other end of the political spectrum and is equally reckless in his verbal tirades). Being intentionally hurtful is not a political issue, it’s a human issue.
Words matter. The average adult speaks 16,000 of them each and every day. Sixteen thousand! That’s a lot of talking, and a lot of communicating…and the two are not the same.
We speak the words, and we hear the words, but do we attend to the messages carried by the words; messages that build up, or tear down. And are we aware of how our words impact the world around us. One doesn’t need to have a radio or television show to feed a culture of cruelty or nurture a culture of compassion.
Compassion, literally translated, means “to suffer with.” Compassion as a virtue means that one suffers with, and then does something meaningful about trying to alleviate the suffering of another.
And choosing care-fully the words we use every day to describe others, express our thoughts and feelings to others, and work toward understanding others is a very good place to start practicing compassion. Because we cannot, will not, begin to meaningfully care about others if we are using words that distance ourselves from them…and from ourselves.
The natural response when we sense the pain of another is to try and help. But this will only happen if our own anger, grief, guilt, and shame hasn’t backed up on us. To be compassionate, to get close to another’s pain, we must also be addressing our own pain.
People who attack with words are aware (just enough) of how much hurt is inside them to be scared witless. And out of fear they choose hurtful words to gain a false sense of control, of power, of superiority. All it costs is decency.
“Compassionate action involves working with ourselves as much as working with others.”
“Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” What a terrible, dangerous denial of reality that little rhyme is. Words used as weapons absolutely hurt you and me, and they hurt our culture.
And if we aren’t willing to control what comes out of our mouths, we won’t be able to offer much from our hearts.
Questions for reflection:
How have you used words to hurt?
Who models the virtue of compassion for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of compassion?
-Pema Chodron
I just finished reading Rush Limbaugh’s apology to Sandra Fluke for calling her a “slut.” She is the law student who recently attempted to advocate for affordable health care coverage of contraception, he is the bombastic talk-show host who blew an opportunity to engage in meaningful dialogue about an important issue.
I’m glad he apologized, even if it was probably motivated by fleeing sponsors and growing public outrage. I wish ALL public figures, regardless of political affiliation, were held equally accountable for using hurtful, abusive, demeaning language (I’m thinking now of Bill Maher, who sits at the other end of the political spectrum and is equally reckless in his verbal tirades). Being intentionally hurtful is not a political issue, it’s a human issue.
Words matter. The average adult speaks 16,000 of them each and every day. Sixteen thousand! That’s a lot of talking, and a lot of communicating…and the two are not the same.
We speak the words, and we hear the words, but do we attend to the messages carried by the words; messages that build up, or tear down. And are we aware of how our words impact the world around us. One doesn’t need to have a radio or television show to feed a culture of cruelty or nurture a culture of compassion.
Compassion, literally translated, means “to suffer with.” Compassion as a virtue means that one suffers with, and then does something meaningful about trying to alleviate the suffering of another.
And choosing care-fully the words we use every day to describe others, express our thoughts and feelings to others, and work toward understanding others is a very good place to start practicing compassion. Because we cannot, will not, begin to meaningfully care about others if we are using words that distance ourselves from them…and from ourselves.
The natural response when we sense the pain of another is to try and help. But this will only happen if our own anger, grief, guilt, and shame hasn’t backed up on us. To be compassionate, to get close to another’s pain, we must also be addressing our own pain.
People who attack with words are aware (just enough) of how much hurt is inside them to be scared witless. And out of fear they choose hurtful words to gain a false sense of control, of power, of superiority. All it costs is decency.
“Compassionate action involves working with ourselves as much as working with others.”
“Sticks and stone may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” What a terrible, dangerous denial of reality that little rhyme is. Words used as weapons absolutely hurt you and me, and they hurt our culture.
And if we aren’t willing to control what comes out of our mouths, we won’t be able to offer much from our hearts.
Questions for reflection:
How have you used words to hurt?
Who models the virtue of compassion for you? How?
What is one thing you can begin doing to practice the virtue of compassion?
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