Continued from a previous series of posts on the stages of spiritual growth . . .

In Stage Five, you are now moved by the Spirit outward again in love, a love that compels you into an experience of abundance you’ve not know up to this point. In the past, it was mostly your head that directed you–”shoulds” and “oughts” kept you moving forward, caring for others, keeping your practices. But now, in Stage Five, your heart directs you, and your head serves your heart of love. There is, as Jesus promised, a “stream of living water welling up inside you” (John 7.38).

In this stage, spiritual guidance is necessary to help you discern what this Power within your is impelling you to be and do. You sense God’s greater purpose for you, but what exactly that means may not be clear to you.

You will still suffer in this stage as much (or even more) that you did before. But now you draw strength from the unfathomable resources of the Spirit, and from your real experience of ongoing union with Christ. You may even sense an “unceasing prayer” (1 Thessalonians 5.17) beginning to form in your heart–an expression of communion with the Trinity that flows within you without your effort.

Lastly, you may find yourself struggling with a nagging frustration despite the presence of God’s love in your heart. Your love for God and others, combined with your commitment to God’s righteousness and justice, may lead you to do things that are perceived as odd, dangerous, and sometimes counter to the mainstream of the society around you. In addition, you may be disinterested in things that interest most other people, and your passions and interests will probably not be shared by most of those around you. This can lead to a sense of loneliness and isolation even in the midst of a strong community.

In this stage, you will need to seek out others who are emerging from Stage Four and the Wall, people who share your experiences and who can serve as companions as you journey deeper into the fullness of Christ.

To be continued . . .

Continued from a previous series of posts on the stages of spiritual growth . . .

The fifth of the six stages that characterize our spiritual growth as Christians is marked by a new turn outward toward others and the creation. In this stage, your life expresses an integration of your growth so far, a deep rootedness in your intimacy with God through the Spirit.

In the previous stage, Stage Four, you turned inward after years of active and outward service and leadership (Stage Three). You were seeking more of God than you’d known before–a real experience of encounter with God that neither doctrine nor evangelical service could give you. Doctrine and service were vitally important for your journey, but there came a point when crisis or spiritual hunger made you deeply aware of an emptiness within that nothing but God could satisfy.

Your turn inward–toward more of Christ–was no easy path. Once determined to seek Christ above all things, you collided with “the Wall” of your sin and self will; you came face to face with a deep, inner resistance to God. But if you participated in this experience as a gift of God’s severe mercy; if you deepened your spiritual practices of intimacy with God through prayer and meditation (or contemplation); and if you partnered with a spiritual director or guide who helped you face your sin, confront your demons, and who held you in Christ; then you emerged into a new dawning in your Christian experience. Stage Five is this dawning–it is your emergence into a morning bright with the light of Christ.

To be continued . . .

There’s an awful lot of taming of this mystery we call the Incarnation. Here Parker Palmer explores the risk of the Incarnation. An apt way of putting things in a time when we’re becoming more aware of the tremendous risk it is to be human.

Here’s a needed counter-testimony to the often thin preachments of male preachers who can never put the Incarnation in these terms.  This is exceptionally good material for re-encountering Christmas, especially if you’re a woman all to familiar with the ways we men have spun this Mystery.

. . . And yet my body had taken over and all we could do, all I could do, was surrender to that moment fully. Every muscle in my body was focused, my entire world had narrowed to that very moment. And then there he was, born while I was leaning against our old truck, standing up, into my own hands, nearly 9 pounds of shrieking boy-child humanity, welcomed by my uncontrollable laughter and his father’s uncontrollable relief-tears. A few people applauded.

There wasn’t anything very dignified about giving birth.

And yet it was the moment when I felt the line between the sacred and the secular of my life shatter once and for all. The sacred and holy moments of life are somehow the most raw, the most human moments, aren’t they?

But we keep it quiet, the mess of the Incarnation, because it’s just not church-y enough and men don’t quite understand and it’s personal, private, there aren’t words for this and it’s a bit too much. It’s too much pain, too much waiting, too much humanity, too much God, too much work, too much joy, too much love and far too messy. With far too little control. And sometimes it does not go the way we thought it was supposed to go and then we are also left with questions, with deep sadness, with longing . . .

For more click here.

You’ll need at least three things to more forward through stage four.

First, an awareness that there is a stage beyond Service and Leadership, because without it you’ll think something’s gone terribly wrong.

Second, patience and compassion with yourself because this stage can be extremely disorienting, even frightening.

And third, a spiritual friendship with someone who is unthreatened by your questions and your expressions of frustration, someone who won’t try to fix you, but who understands God’s mysterious ways enough to hold you in faith, helping you believe that God is meeting you in the midst of your experience.

A sure sign that you’re moving through this stage is the presence of an expanding sense of love, for love is the only thing that can lead you along these later stages of spiritual growth.

To be continued . . .

There’s a lot of talk these days about the evil of the world and much concern about the suffering many of us experience.

Questions about God, suffering, and evil will abound as the ten year anniversary of 9/11 comes and goes.

Here’s something that challenges us to see things differently–

John Goldingay, a distinguished Old Testament professor, has written a remarkable memoir of his 43 year marriage, much of it challenged by his wife’s experience with multiple sclerosis.  In the final years before her death in 2009, she was unable to walk or even speak.

To students who often struggle intellectually with the nature of God and the reality of suffering and evil, Goldingay often says:

“It’s odd that people who are not suffering often seem to fret more about this problem than people who are? . . . [The people who worry about such things] are people who each day have food to eat and sunshine to enjoy and friends to share life with and a roof over their head and God to talk to.  What on earth are we to make of the fact that there is so much good in the world?  Isn’t that at least as striking as the fact that there is so much evil?”

Yes, that fact is at least as striking.

Taking hold of that fact more consistent with a life of prayer that’s nourished by the teaching of another Old Testament scholar who writes: “And God saw all that he had made and indeed it was very good” (Genesis 1.31).

The heart is like the furnace in Babylon where the three brave souls were met and sustained by the Divine presence. It is also like the burning bush from which God spoke to Moses.  Again, your heart is like the rock in the desert that gushed forth water, saving the children of Israel.

Enter it.

I’ve frequently advocated for more sunshine on mood disorders, depression, and mental health (see posts here and here and here and here).  Here’s an important post on emotional health among pregnant women and new moms.  From patricaneufeld.wordpress.com

This week’s death of baby Medina, who was allegedly thrown from a parking structure by his mother, is a tragedy. And her husband’s plea that more be done to recognize and treat postpartum depression is courageous and needed. However, as a therapist specializing in women’s emotional health, and especially postpartum depression, it’s important that we recognize that depression around child birth very, very rarely leads to such desperate and tragic acts.

Identifying a baby’s killing with postpartum depression may do more harm than good. It may silence those who suffer rather than helping them talk about their experience. Postpartum depression is the most misunderstood, undiagnosed, and untreated complication of childbirth. One in six women suffer from depression during pregnancy and after childbirth. Until recently, very few physicians screened for this kind of depression. But that’s changing in Fresno. Many of us are working to help women find the resources they need not just to survive depression, but to thrive.

The truth is, mood disorders around childbirth are treatable. If you wonder if you or someone you care about is having emotional difficulty while pregnant or after childbirth, contact: Postpartum Support International at www.postpartum.net, or locally in the Fresno area, contact, www.calmhappysafe.com.

Two people. Two hours apart. Two people face to face with death.

The first has decided to forgo cancer treatment. Too much for her weary body. And the chances of improvement are next to nil. Treatment would not do much to slow the disease, and would drastically diminish this person’s quality of life. (Note: I’m a real advocate for proper treatment, under proper medical care . . . so don’t interpret this as a post advocating avoidance of treatment).

“My friends think I’m giving up,” she tells me. “But far from it. I’m taking a different path. I am actively and creatively surrendering to God. I am bringing an inner vitality to my encounter with cancer. People around me may not understand this, but it’s what I must do.”

Many won’t understand. But I do. After two decades of ministry among the dying, I’ve come to recognize this kind of decision as an act of dignity and self-determination, a witness to a deep and vibrant inner faith experience. And I’ve witnessed the way it brings new strength and an inner freedom to a person, even when they are outwardly captive.

The second person exemplifies this.

He stopped treatment months ago. He cannot leave his bed. His wife gently feeds him ice chips to bring relief to his parched lips. He’s eager for death. It cannot come soon enough. “What would you like God to do for you?” I ask. “Take me . . . soon.” There’s no fear. No unfinished business. No anxious brooding of the family, trying to hold off death. Just surrender.

“Then I’ll pray for you. But if you die soon, don’t tell anyone I prayed for you,” I tell him. I don’t want them to think I have special powers. They might call me Pastor Kevorkian.” I wink at the family. He grins.

Dying like this is an art. And it’s beautiful.

I’m glad for these two witnesses who, by their art, show me a different path. And it’s not passive at all. Rather, at the end of life, here’s the most robust, creative encounter with the forces of death I can imagine.

I leave these two visits blessed and mumbling to myself, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15.55).

I hope I’ll practice this sacred art . . . when the time comes.

In wordless prayer, my mind began to carry me away, searching for things that would make me happy.   All things I don’t have. All the “shoulds” and “oughts” that hound me with the persistence of a pack of dogs.

Then suddenly all this cleared and I saw (or rather, felt) the great hilarity of it all. Happiness broke upon me despite what I don’t have. Hilarity, precisely because in not having them—those circumstantial comforts, the conditional supports to happiness, the “good life”—my ego was detached momentarily from needing them.

Just as I began to lament this most recent challenge to all my “scripts” (a personal experience of loss), I became aware of the grace in it all—the charismatic, supernatural action of the Holy Spirit to strip me of anything natural, even good things, that might bring me happiness.

When the ego is stripped of all superficial things that usually bring it happiness or comfort, it’s natural to lament the loss and become anxious or despondent. The ego is used to being propped up.

But crisis, loss, and trouble come into our lives and can be experienced or received as grace.  They have the power to strip us of the shackles of our lesser attachments.  Then ours souls can soar free into unrestrained happiness.  We are those who can no longer be separated from God by any-thing.

This is true freedom.