ESR student Susan Flynn delivered the following message during ESR Worship on February 2, 2016:
We
are at the close of the first month of the year, a time where people make
resolutions to live their life better, access meaning quicker, clear away what
is unneeded or not working. We are just
beginning February. Even though it is
the shortest month, for most people I know, they can’t wait for it to be
over. The hanging-on-of-winter and the
pull of spring end up leaving many of us craving sunlight, with the impatience
of cabin fever. I have discovered I love
ESR for the same reasons I love winter.
Winter is a chance to bundle up, go inside, read a good book, reflect,
and act like a cat by finding the most comfortable place to fall asleep. Enjoy the contrasts, hot chocolate after
being out in the cold, candlelight in the evening.
Today I want to not talk about inner light but
our inner darkness. I grow weary of the
association of light being good, and the dark being bad and scary. We need the dark as much as we need the light;
they are contrasting but not opposites.
The Ying Yang symbol attempts to demonstrate that both light and dark
are a part of each other, connected by the same underlying essence. This writing explores how I have been
distracted by the light and given gifts through darkness.
When
we have too much light it can affect our bodies and brains, too much sun, can
lead to health issues. We can be kept
from sleep at night from the blue light emanating from our electronics. As human beings we are designed to stop and
replenish - darkness is necessary for this to happen. At night, our brains remove what is unneeded
information, consolidating useful material while our body’s systems re-calibrate on every
level, regulating growth and hunger hormones for optimal functioning during the
day. The moonflower and certain water
lilies only bloom at night. Butterflies, the symbol of transformation, would never open their magnificent wings without
their time in dark seclusion as caterpillars.
Sometimes
the bring light of spring and summer can be stressful for me because my
expectations for the day sky-rocket. And
I often find myself disappointed when I cannot accomplish an uncanny amount of
work, activities, and play before sundown.
With winter, well maybe not this one, but winters in the past, a layer
of snow can make it hard to go out, lowering my expectations to reasonable. Nature turns the lights down low and we are
invited to go within, and experience what awaits our engagement. Or we can choose not to and tap our feet
impatiently awaiting the spring. The
sunny months are always entertaining, fun and stimulating; but I have learned the
most from exploring the dark.
Before
I decided to go to seminary I experienced a bit of a dark night of the soul. Two years before I went, I was getting
swallowed in debt, trying to sell a house that I had once cherished as a place
I called home. I spent a lot of time in
nature and in the company of my cats as I reflected on the end of a
relationship that lasted over a decade.
I didn’t want to be with people, so when I wasn’t at my job I would have
my meals with the birds outside and spent time praying inside with my cats at
night. At that time I learned about the
many levels of loneliness. And that is
when I really started to talk with God.
I prayed nightly asking for direction, answers, and help by candle
light. God, nature and animals were my
most cherished company during that time.
They journeyed with me into the abyss, and there I had encounters with
fear, doubt and self -worth. I was
disoriented for a while, groping around in the dark, but as I became accustomed
to connecting with my shadows, remembering who I was and what was important, it
became powerful place to be, working with the force of life. When Luke Skywalker trained with Yoda in the
swamp, he was blind-folded - unaided by visual sight to see what was in the
light. He began to hear and see from
another place. A place within, that was
honest, deep and holy. One that was free
from illusion and distraction. As I wrestled
with loneliness I began to learn how lovely it was to be alone and that it was
not only the end of certain things in my life, but also the beginning.
Ministry has always been something
that whispered to me, and nipped at my heels in my life’s most present moments. At that time, I loved my job as an Employment
Specialist; it affirmed my love of people, but over the course of 12 years I
discovered I wanted to work with people in a more spiritual way. As I was clearing out the weeds in my life, I
began to water the thought of going to Seminary. Knowing internally that the place that held
the most value and meaning for me was with the church, people and nature.
I
changed realtors, emptied the house and sold most of what I owned. The house sold on May first in Massachusetts
and I was working at a job in New Hampshire on the 21st, and by fall
I was traveling to many seminaries in my old Honda Lucy, in search of a good
place to study.
Although I had some of my most
theologically provocative conversations at [another] school in
Chicago, I did not fall in love. In the
end, Earlham School of Religion stole my heart.
I wanted to study with people of other faith traditions; the beauty of
Richmond’s farmland and sky called out easily winning over the city living the
other schools offered. But most of all
ESR had an essence that the other places could not touch; sure the other places
were impressive, shiny, engraved scripture in the floor, ornate chapels, and
had extensive community programs, but something was missing. I knew when I visited ESR, this was a place I
would be able to go as deep as I wanted to into the questions I would have. And as most of you know who have ever been in
class with me, I have a lot of questions! I could not identify all the reasons ESR held
my attention, the essence was a bit mysterious, but I had enough to go on, I
was going to move for the fourth time: destination Richmond, Indiana.
I have lived in both Massachusetts and
South Carolina and although I have roots in both places, I find I always go
through culture shock when I go from one to the other. And even though I knew ESR, nestled in the Midwest
was exactly the place I was supposed to be, when I got here I experienced
another wilderness desert moment. Where
was everyone?
I did not quite get the Quaker culture
when I first arrived, the quiet, stillness and lack of bright colors was a bit
different. When I would enter Barclay I
felt like I was in an old western ghost town. I would burst in, with my rambling gregarious
greetings, dressed in various colors that did not necessarily go with Quaker
grey. Pushing open the Barclay saloon
doors, this displaced cowgirl would instantly disturb the productive solace-filled
space. The first couple times I came, I
would question myself wondering, "Wait. Where
am I? Should I be speaking in a whisper?
Am I in the library?" The people of
Barclay got used to my energy. Matt
would know it would be just minutes before I dropped in asking if I could test
the Keurig machine. He would laugh when I would reason I was making sure it was
running properly for the prospective students.
Miriam, always gracious, instead of hiding the candy bowl would busily
refill it, knowing my not-so-covert ninja agenda was always on a mission for a
piece of chocolate. And Jay upon hearing
my exuberance would always subtly close his door in order to get his work done
without the distraction of an over-excited cowgirl.
As an enthusiastic U.U. it took me a
little while at ESR to get acclimated, at first I was very aware of what I was
missing, color, buddies, things to do, and extroverted people. We were surrounded by farms growing all sorts
of things, why did it feel like a desert to me?
Was the grass greener at another seminary? Had I made a mistake? As I went to classes and waiting worship and
got into the flow of ESR, I began to realize, that the mysterious essence I
couldn’t name originally was actually transformational, and that spirit I felt
in the air was descending upon me. The
desert I saw was an illusion, because I was searching for something that would
never be found where I was looking.
The quiet, the spirit, and this place
asked me, invited me, to go within. This
lifted the veil helping me realize, as I first suspected, that it wasn’t in the
shiny, or carved floors, it was not who I had been in my last job. It was so quiet, all the voices of the world
hushed, and I came to understand, we were not without, we were actually deeply
and perhaps more available for the holy listening, of spirit in this place. I was on sacred land, that was lush and
nutrient enough to grow whatever I needed while I was here.
The
green grass began to sprout around my spot in the Richmond desert; I saw
community and loving called it as I saw it, pockets of community. There were all these great, hole-in-the-wall
places to eat, Roscoe’s - a coffee shop where I could study, caffeinate and move
the furniture - nature trails all over the place, and high -aliber lectures and
shows in town. My extroverted side is
satiated knowing of all the things to do, but the gold I was originally mining
for was for my introverted side, the apophatic nourishment. Upon first arriving here, I was used to so
much external stimulus and touchstones, it was disorienting for me at first not
seeing them were I was accustomed. And
although I am a kataphatic person, I was drawn here because of the space made
for the introvert, appreciation for processing and contemplation. Knowing this environment would allow for
spirit to arise and be heard where she would in my life. That chance to honor the dark, turn off all
the lights, the doing, the entertainment, and let the head sink into the heart
and explore what is most vulnerable, honest and true. Love, integrity, being connected, witnessing
and listening are among these gifts.
I
have been doing a lot of reflecting since I got here. The natural environment of quiet, and
simplicity, has helped me shed the layers and pieces that were not helpful in
my theology and personal philosophy. For
me the gift of transformation has been in learning to trust the process of
breaking apart - it’s terrifying for sure but I understand what is happening
now. Perhaps the same feeling the
Incredible Hulk might have experienced the first time his skin turned green and
he doubled in size. Seminary in my
opinion, if done right is transformational on every level, destruction, mayhem,
construction, peace, pain, and deeper sense of purpose, power and place.
In my life before Seminary, I was
trying to get my ducks in a row, race with the rats, and work toward the good
life, and as my life unfolded as many people's do, my ducks scattered. Who decided on ducks anyhow? If I am administered
a new set of ducks, if I can’t send them back, I think I would rather have them
dance or drum and invite some non-ducks to the party.
Now
down to an apartment's worth of stuff, I have found again I no longer need all
that I have. I have also been cleaning
out my internal spiritual house, finding the possessions worth the most don’t
take up space to store, but are a treasure to have. Refocusing from consuming to connecting with
people, the love of learning and discussing something important, practicing
reiki, letter writing, and not having a T.V., is such a joy. Knee deep in compost, preparing this winter
garden, focusing in on the question Wayne Muller asks us, how then shall we live? A large part of this garden is
reserved specifically for mystery, the spirit to plant what is inspired at any
given point. I acknowledge that I have
only two of the many hands that will be tending to this enchanted place. The winter, the absence of light, is just as
good growing conditions as the spring and summer. What does your inner darkness, this garden of
winter have to reveal to you?
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