A Small Spiritual Life

During political and social times such as these, I worry that my spiritual life may be too small.

I have a feeling though, I am not alone in this.  And not just in terms of a spiritual life.

A few weeks ago I read a blog by a well-known author of many books (Dani Shapiro) that began like this:

During the past several days I have started to write a post, and then stopped.  Started, then stopped.  And I’ll tell you exactly the thought process, verbatim, that has raced through my mind each time I sat down to write.  Who cares?  Why me?  How can writing possibly help with the state of the world is in such profound chaos?  What makes me think I have anything to contribute? Isn’t writing somehow self-indulgent? Shouldn’t I be out there in the world, at every possible waking moment, making some sort of real difference?

After reading her post, which was entitled "On Doing What We Can" by the way, I thought to myself:

"Hugh, I guess I'm not the only one."

Even though the 20th Century Christian bodhisattva Mother Teresa reminded us:

Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love, I struggle at times in my spiritual journey to walk the fine line between humility vs. complacency, acceptance vs. helplessness.

This feeling came to a head for me on January 21, 2017, the day of the world-wide Women's March.

This march, protesting the election and exclusionist political platform of the newly inaugurated President of the United States, was so large that it is now being called the "largest protest" in history.

And I'd like to say I was there (or at least at my local state capital building) when 82 year-old feminist icon Gloria Steinem

stood before a crowd of hundreds of thousands in the nation's capital and told protestors (women, men and children) how her German friend reminded her earlier that day that: "We in Berlin know that walls don't work,"...but I wasn't. 

No, I spent most of that unusually warm and sunny winter day at the local library and playground with my 2 gorgeous children before visiting with my aging mother; sadly, on that particular day, my spiritual life felt very small.

It didn't help that I read this other statement by my hero Ms. Steinem in the L.A. Times:

Pressing send does not allow us to empathize with other people. ... If you hold a baby you’re flooded with empathy. If you see somebody in an accident you want to help them. I love books, but [empathy] doesn’t happen from a book. It doesn’t happen from a screen. It only happens when we’re together.

This wise testimonial reminded me of the famous quotation by German anti-Nazi theologian and pastor Friedrich Niemöller (1892 – 1984) who said:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Since that day I've been trying to think outside the box for ways that I may be able to connect my spiritual life and practice with something greater, and as a first step, ironically, I'm trying to think small- as in, achievable now.

For example, when I went on my first 5-day silent Mindfulness Meditation Retreat I remember being moved by this instruction on the very first page of the orientation manual for the retreat:

It's a little bit small and hard to read, but what it says at the bottom of the page is: May your practice benefit all.

To me, this is a beautiful intention.

If we choose to, we could offer our meditation practice (yoga practice, prayer practice) as a radical gesture of peace, hope and loving generosity.

In his 2002 book One Dharma: The Emerging Western Buddhism, Buddhist teacher, author and cofounder of the Insight Meditation Society Joseph Goldstein writes in his chapter on "Compassion:"

Our dharma practice cannot help but benefit the world.  As our minds become purified of those forces that create suffering, the habits of greed and hatred and ignorance, the world is that much freer of the many consequences of those mind states.

Reading these words lightens my unease about my "small" spiritual life in order to remind myself of its mighty value.

But then, in the same paragraph, Mr. Goldstein goes on:

But what would it take to go from the understanding that our practice will inevitably help others to making the welfare of others the very motivation to practice? Knowing our own limitations, can we realistically put this altruistic motivation right at the beginning? And what would be the effect of doing so?

And just like that, my unease returns.

But maybe that is okay.  And maybe it is not unease, but rather a tension inside of me that is actually a spiritual growing pain for the potential of a larger spiritual life that I have yet to imagine.

Could this be?

We will find out...