the blessings of surrender...

Nearly every week I discover a new layer of privilege infecting me or one of the ones I love. This is neither complaint nor lament, mind you, just a bit of confession - and that's good for the soul, right?  You may recall the old Paul Simon song from the 70's, "Still crazy after all these years." Well, I tend to amplify his chorus these days to include: still lazy, still sexist, still racist, still homophobic, still bewildered, still anthropocentric, still selfish, still bourgeois, still privileged, still... what? You get my point: this lyric list is not exhaustive, merely suggestive. I like how St. Joni put it in "The Circle Game: "And the seasons they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down. We're captive on the  carousel of time. We can't return we can only look behind from where we came; and go round and round and round in the circle game."

The point in recognizing and owning these blind spots and prejudice is not self-flagellation. Neither is it shame. It is freedom. Solidarity. Hope. But like the 12 Step masters know: there's s ton of acceptance and surrender necessary before we get to serenity. That's why all of us regardless of class, race, gender, age and all the rest first try to deny and hide our shadows. We hate knowing that we are not perfect. We despise our own vulnerability. So we blame others, we self-medicate, we create lives that are too busy for contemplation - and eventually descend into a self-imposed prison of despair and regret. 

Or, as the late Jean Vanier of L'Arche - a man of enormous privilege - learned, we can let our failings lead us into love: "I am struck by how sharing our weakness and difficulties is more nourishing to others than sharing our qualities and successes." His confession is the same wisdom that AA teaches. Contemporary mystics share it, too when they speak about surrender. "Far from an act of spiritual cowardice," writes Cynthia Bourgeault, "surrender is an act of spiritual power because it opens the heart directly to the more subtle realms of insight and energy."

When the attitude of prompt surrender has become permanently engrained in a person while still in bodily life, that person becomes a powerful servant of humanity - a saint, in the language of the Christian West - whose very being radiates blessing and spiritual strength... Surrender means to "hand oneself over" or "entrust oneself." It is not about outer capitulation, but about inner opening. It is always voluntary, and rather than an act of weakness, it is always an act of strength... Maintaining an open, inner gentleness, even in in the face of perceived threat and reversal, immediately connects you wit the whole multispectrum knowingness of your heart. Surrender is always "being actively receptive to an intelligence that is greater than ourselves," Helminkski writes. And in that configuration we move fully into alignment with the divine dynamism. You might even say that surrender is the awakening of the heart. (The Wisdom Way of Knowing, p. 72/111)

Confession, owning our shadow, becoming "woke," surrender, recognizing the consequences of our privilege is a spiritual practice. Not only does surrender set us free, but it creates possibilities for humble solidarity. Surrender helps us get used to failure. And suffering. And doing the same thing over and over again until we grasp that if we always do what we've always done, we'll always get what we've always got! 

Last winter I learned this from a spiritual director who showed up while I was trying to bake bread. In the spring, this mentor was revealed in all my gardening failures. And now she is close by again as I try to go deeper into centering prayer and strengthen my upright bass chops. Surrender takes practice - like bread, gardening, playing a riff on my bass, or centering prayer. Lots of practice. Lots of failure. Lots of repetition. And then, often obliquely, when I least expect it, something clicks and I "get" a little part of the greater whole. To help my practice, I have enrolled in Richard Rohr's online class in the Franciscan Way. I need more focus. And accountability. And time devoted to befriending my weaknesses. 

Today I am sitting with a poem by Jane Cadwallader Staub she calls "Turning." Like Francis and Clare who came to sense the holy in everything, Ms. Staub knows that our everyday realities are ripe with possibilities for going deeper. Who knows what will be revealed at Wal-Mart?

There comes a time in every fall
before the leaves begin to turn
when blackbirds group and flock and gather
choosing a tree, a branch, together
to click and call and chorus and clamor
announcing the season has come for travel.

Then comes a time when all those birds
without a sound or backward glance
pour from every branch and limb
into the air, as if on a whim
but it's a dynamic, choreographed mass
a swoop, a swerve, a mystery, a dance

and now the tree stands breathless, amazed
at how it was chosen, how it was changed.