The crises of our times are overwhelming. And Covid has tied our hands; we can’t offer solutions the way we’d like to, the way we know is most effective—in person, together. My dream tells me to trust deeply in work we can do at home, alone and within our families.
If even my agency is a gift passed along by my family genes and my upbringing and white privilege and happenstance, then any sense that that agency is mine is an illusion.
The most powerful, willful action springs from acceptance. In Minnesotan terms, we take the “bad” weather and make the best of it.
If I never notice what’s happening, I can’t choose my response. I’m reactive. But if I first stop and observe, I can be deliberate about what’s next. I’m coming to think that inside this crack lurks the greatest arena of human freedom.
Ask what I’m learning in the Living School and I’ll blather incoherently, enthusiastically, and at great length about the Christian mystical tradition, the significance of contemplation, and a complete overhaul of my faith. I was doing just that at Easter dinner a few weeks ago. My father-in-law asked, and all eleven relatives at the table …
Learning of any kind is a way we come into consciousness.
This is a moment when we can make our love shine out in the history of the United States. This is a chance to send our loving sparks out into the whole world. Moments like this don’t come often. That’s why we’re marching.
Love felt is beautiful, but love expressed, love enacted, love made into something, is divine. This is how God is, and how God becomes.
I began to see the human journey as simply growing up. We’re born with original immaturity. Kids throw toys in the toilet. Our task is to develop into our fullest, flourishing, interconnected Self, which is the opposite of the small, grasping, individualistic self.
Once again I saw divinity in this humble, stumbling way—not by escaping my life but diving deeper into it.