Living with Heavy

I took Theo to get tested for Covid again today. He begins school Thursday, and while Paideia celebrates a vaccination rate over 97% of all faculty and eligible students, they’re asking families to take this extra precaution. Happy to oblige, we returned to a testing site we’ve visited throughout the year. In recent weeks, we’ve driven by and seen so few cars, we wondered if it had closed.

Not today. Three lines snaked around the church parking lot to the testing and vaccination site. As he swabbed my son’s nose, the friendly practitioner confirmed they almost did shut down late July, but starting about two weeks ago, they’ve been inundated again. I was hopeful maybe it meant more people getting vaccinated. Some, he said, but mostly testing, and so many more testing positive. When all was said and done, it took us an hour and a half. Theo had some serious feelings about missing pool time as a result; I had some serious feelings about missing humanity.

How did we get here? Watching another mountain rise on the graphs of infections, hospitalizations, and deaths. Screaming at each other over whether our children should wear masks. Having to face the grim, maddening reality that even with vaccines widely and freely available, we may not see the end of this pandemic any time soon.

And then there’s the rapid takeover of Afghanistan by the Taliban. The Code Red for Humanity climate report. Wildfires in the West. Every crisis exacerbated by vitriol, finger pointing, and endless, often fruitless arguments about the facts and solutions.

How do we live in these heavy times? When we desperately want to get back to something resembling normal, and for reasons utterly beyond our control, we cannot get there, no matter how strong our denial or distraction techniques.

Last night, I read in a recent letter from the Center for Action Contemplation:

Fr. Richard Rohr has long taught that the Gospel is not about an ideal world where everything goes right and everyone loves perfectly. It’s not idealism, but rather utter realism. The Gospel depicts the world as it really is, including everything that is painfully tragic, confusing, and even absurd.

The letter goes on to say that even in times of tumult and trouble, grace invites to hope, trust and participate in God’s ongoing work to heal and transform this wounded world.

Such grace, hope and trust do not necessarily come easily, especially if we are clearly seeing and feeling the pain of the world. I believe they are gifts, freely offered by God. And yet, we do have to be intentional about seeking and receiving them. We must work the muscles of hope and trust to remain hopeful and trusting.

And we have to have safe containers to bring and pour out the fullness of our humanity --the grief and rage, the doubt and confusion, even the judgment and hostility we may feel toward others, if we’re really honest.

For me, the ultimate container is God, accessed through honest prayer. I know many folks were not taught to welcome such raw honesty into prayer, quite the opposite. But where else can it go? There’s no safer container than the mercy of God, to bring all that churns within us. Just read the Psalms.

Beyond prayer, we need other people who can be safe containers for us. Where we can pour out our real thoughts and feelings and have them held with love, without judgment, without advising or fixing. I am amazed sometimes when I’m all worked up inside - anxious, sad, angry, whatever--how just speaking it aloud to another caring soul, giving it air and light, clears the space in me and brings some measure of peace.

I’m so grateful that throughout my life, I have had other souls - friends, mentors, spiritual directors, spouse--who have received my full humanity when I was trusting and courageous enough to speak the full truth. And it is my deep desire to offer that kind of space and care to others who need to unburden.

Frankly, I do not know how we will survive these troubled times without regularly wringing ourselves out, in prayer and sacred conversation. Both are the grace of God that help us live in the real with some measure of sanity, hope, even joy and gratitude.

I hope you’ll consider joining me and others for regular times of prayer, meditation, and reflection, where we can bring our full humanity, be loved, and receive the grace and wisdom to live through these difficult times. Whether it’s the Sacred Pause Retreat, Women’s Spirituality Group, Flow: Spiritual Rhythms for Soulful Living, Wellsprings Prayer, or one-on-one spiritual direction, I pray you find spaces and ways to release your own surge.

In faith,

Kimberly