Next time you feel like laughing at someone searching with a metal detector, remember Terry Herbert of the UK. He stumbled upon a fortune in Anglo-Saxon gold on a neighbor's farm. Over five days he unearthed what is now declared 1500 pieces of treasure with a 14 year old metal detector. Terry, who is unemployed, admits there are those who have laughed at him over the 18 years he's done this hobby. But he kept hoping to find something.
There's no doubt that Terry's situation is far different from those who seek eternal spiritual treasures, not material ones. But you have to hand it to him for persistence and optimism.
All this reminded me of Paul Tillich's The Right to Hope and his discussion of foolish versus genuine hope. Tillich's discussion about waiting in openness and the pull between despair and hope drew my attention:
There are two kinds of waiting, the passive waiting in laziness and the receiving waiting in openness. He who waits in laziness, passively, prevents the coming of what he is waiting for. He who waits in quiet tension, open for what he may encounter, works for its coming. Such waiting in openness and hope does what no will power can do for our own inner development. The more seriously the great religious men took their own transformation, using their will to achieve it, the more they failed and were thrown into hopelessness about themselves. Desperately they asked, and many of us ask with them, Can we hope at all for such inner renewal? What gives us the right to such hope after all our failures? Again there is only one answer: waiting in inner stillness, with posed tension and openness toward what we can only receive. Such openness is highest activity; it is the driving force which leads us toward the growth of something new in us. And the struggle between hope and despair in our waiting is a symptom that the new has already taken hold of us.
The inner renewal or transformation which cannot be brought about by will alone creates a spiritual tension that leads to resolution only when we realize that it is dependent on a worldview that is more mature, inclusive of everyone. Through our openness to those around us, we find what we seek.
As Tillich notes:
"We do not hope for us alone or for those who share our hope; we hope also for those who had and have no hope, for those whose hopes for this life remain unfulfilled, for those who are disappointed and indifferent, for those who despair of life, and even for those who have hurt or destroyed life. Certainly, if we could only hope each for himself, it would be a poor and foolish hope. Eternity is the ground and aim of every being, for God shall be in all."
.It is not just a distinction between earthly and spiritual treasure that matters.
Those seeking personal salvation separate from others, those who seek a relationship with God apart from all fellow human beings, will miss the mark entirely.
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The power to empathize
Recently, the author J.K. Rowling spoke at the commencement of Harvard.
She spoke about the power of imagination, not as in "bed time stories", but to envision a better world, to help others to improve their lot in life. And she spoke of the responsibility carried by all of us, should we choose to accept it, to live in a way that sustains not only ourselves, but others.
"Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation," Rowling said. "In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity; it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared. " via msnbc.com
J.K. Rowling also spoke of her work for Amnesty Int'l in her early twenties, about being with survivors of political exile and torture, hearing the screams of a young man told his mother was executed for his choice to speak out against injustice. She recalled a torture victim's kind words to her after she dropped him off somewhere, wishing her happiness despite his great suffering. She spoke of her awareness of realizing how inordinately fortunate she was at that young age .
The crowd went silent . The crimson flags of Harvard blew in the wind, parents and students looked up at the podium, professors strained forward in their seats, listening. And then she told the students that, with their advantages, they had the power to help others, to be a positive force for change in the lives of others, and what a difference that would make.
How inordinately fortunate we are to be in that position, those of us who do not live with political persecution, whose bellies are full, who can choose to use our imaginations not to tell bed time stories, but to create new stories in the lives of those who need our empathy.
She spoke about the power of imagination, not as in "bed time stories", but to envision a better world, to help others to improve their lot in life. And she spoke of the responsibility carried by all of us, should we choose to accept it, to live in a way that sustains not only ourselves, but others.
"Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation," Rowling said. "In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity; it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared. " via msnbc.com
J.K. Rowling also spoke of her work for Amnesty Int'l in her early twenties, about being with survivors of political exile and torture, hearing the screams of a young man told his mother was executed for his choice to speak out against injustice. She recalled a torture victim's kind words to her after she dropped him off somewhere, wishing her happiness despite his great suffering. She spoke of her awareness of realizing how inordinately fortunate she was at that young age .
The crowd went silent . The crimson flags of Harvard blew in the wind, parents and students looked up at the podium, professors strained forward in their seats, listening. And then she told the students that, with their advantages, they had the power to help others, to be a positive force for change in the lives of others, and what a difference that would make.
How inordinately fortunate we are to be in that position, those of us who do not live with political persecution, whose bellies are full, who can choose to use our imaginations not to tell bed time stories, but to create new stories in the lives of those who need our empathy.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Hope in Action
Look about you with Christ’s eyes, listen with his ears, feel and think with his heart and mind. Are you ready to give all as he did for truth and justice? Many of the examples of the suffering which our saints responded to with compassion are still found here in this city and beyond. And new injustices have arisen: some are complex and stem from the exploitation of the heart and manipulation of the mind; even our common habitat, the earth itself, groans under the weight of consumerist greed and irresponsible exploitation. We must listen deeply. We must respond with a renewed social action that stems from the universal love that knows no bounds. In this way, we ensure that our works of mercy and justice become hope in action for others.
-Pope Benedict XVI
Hope in action The Pope's words to the youth.
Last night I watched Little People, Big World. The 17 year old twins volunteered to help families whose homes were damaged in a flood. Jeremy said very simply that he put himself in their places, and thought about how he would feel if he and his family lost everything and no one showed up to help. It was a simple but powerful statement of a growing maturity from a teenager.
How would I feel if that happened to me?
What if no one showed up to help?
But then when he and his brother Zach showed up to help, there was a really distasteful job to be done. Someone had to climb into the flooded basement and clean out the ducts. Zach's reaction was to jokingly say he was a good size for that, considering he's got dwarfism. Both he and his twin Jeremy volunteered along with a few other teens and climbed down an open window to the basement. It was smelly. Gross. One of the homeowners was crying because people he didn't even know showed up to offer so much help.
Hope in action. People don't need words. They don't need platitudes or advice. I can't tell you how many times I hear from people in a jam who are reaching out through email for help. Where are their neighbors, their churches, their community? I think as I try to help them from hundreds of miles away.
I've gotten over my discomfort at asking for help for others, but it's quite different to ask for help for myself, so I never blame people who ask me to help them find help. I know how hard it is to do. The reality is this: some people just don't hear the call when you ask. They bounce it back on you, even in your worst moment. They forget to ask:
How would I feel if that happened to me?
What if no one showed up to help?
And they miss a chance to be hope in action. Instead their response is:
I have my own problems.
Isn't there someone else you could ask?
Imagine how this would make you feel if you needed help badly. Much worse and, of course, it explains why some people won't ask for help and email someone named Wheelie Catholic.
There are a lot of good people out there. And most of us, including me, can help sometimes and at other times can't. But there's a difference between being willing to help and sometimes not being able to and an arrogant attitude that perceives the people who need the help as blameworthy. That attitude just flies in the face of hope in action and forgets to ask:
How would I feel if that happened to me?
What if no one showed up to help?
-Pope Benedict XVI
Hope in action The Pope's words to the youth.
Last night I watched Little People, Big World. The 17 year old twins volunteered to help families whose homes were damaged in a flood. Jeremy said very simply that he put himself in their places, and thought about how he would feel if he and his family lost everything and no one showed up to help. It was a simple but powerful statement of a growing maturity from a teenager.
How would I feel if that happened to me?
What if no one showed up to help?
But then when he and his brother Zach showed up to help, there was a really distasteful job to be done. Someone had to climb into the flooded basement and clean out the ducts. Zach's reaction was to jokingly say he was a good size for that, considering he's got dwarfism. Both he and his twin Jeremy volunteered along with a few other teens and climbed down an open window to the basement. It was smelly. Gross. One of the homeowners was crying because people he didn't even know showed up to offer so much help.
Hope in action. People don't need words. They don't need platitudes or advice. I can't tell you how many times I hear from people in a jam who are reaching out through email for help. Where are their neighbors, their churches, their community? I think as I try to help them from hundreds of miles away.
I've gotten over my discomfort at asking for help for others, but it's quite different to ask for help for myself, so I never blame people who ask me to help them find help. I know how hard it is to do. The reality is this: some people just don't hear the call when you ask. They bounce it back on you, even in your worst moment. They forget to ask:
How would I feel if that happened to me?
What if no one showed up to help?
And they miss a chance to be hope in action. Instead their response is:
I have my own problems.
Isn't there someone else you could ask?
Imagine how this would make you feel if you needed help badly. Much worse and, of course, it explains why some people won't ask for help and email someone named Wheelie Catholic.
There are a lot of good people out there. And most of us, including me, can help sometimes and at other times can't. But there's a difference between being willing to help and sometimes not being able to and an arrogant attitude that perceives the people who need the help as blameworthy. That attitude just flies in the face of hope in action and forgets to ask:
How would I feel if that happened to me?
What if no one showed up to help?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Hope in unexpected places
I was watching the movie Midnight Clear with Stephen Baldwin last night, touted as a movie where hope is found in unexpected places on a Christmas Eve. The movie pulled together the stories of various characters struggling day to day in their lives- Baldwin, an alcoholic recently homeless and unemployed while weathering a divorce; a youth ministry leader devastated by a car accident a year earlier which left a co-worker (Rick) brain injured, still not home; Rick's wife and son; a lonely convenience store owner and an elderly woman. What happens in the movie is that, because it's Christmas Eve, a few of the characters reach out to each other and, despite their own difficult circumstances, extend hope to others.
Pope Benedict XVI's visit definitely stirred hope in many Catholics and others with his message of the need to live our faith despite the difficulties we encounter in our present time. He reminds us that it was never and has never been an easy road to do that in the world, yet at the same time assured us that doing God's will, in the end, would lead to an enduring and lasting footprint we can leave on this earth. It would lead to both freedom and joy.
Our mortality scares many of us. I know this not only because I've helped run a retreat for people with terminal illnesses, but I've watched a number of my friends die at young ages. Watching how they lived knowing that death is approaching and their time on earth is limited has taught me a great deal about how to live.
How blessed I was to know my friend Cindy who had MS and spent her very last bit of energy running an Independent Living Center to help so many. She taught me that no matter how little energy one has, you can always find some way to help. No hands? Use your mouth. No speech? Blink your eyes. The inherent dignity of life remains in each of us to our very last day on earth so strongly that we always have a chance to be that hope for someone else. My 60 pound friend Andy, who died in her early 20's, who spent her nights in an iron lung and whose last words remain with me to this day, a message that I try to pass on to others: the best feeling I ever had was helping someone else.
The Pope's words struck me as a reminder to all of us that we need to remember we are accountable for our mortal time and we are here to show hope to others. We think we can't be that hope to someone else because of our own problems. We're too busy. We don't know enough. We might say the wrong thing. Bottom line: we just don't feel good enough. We forget who we are, which is God's children, spiritual beings.
Each of us, every single day, has a chance to be that hope in an unexpected place to someone else.
[For extensive coverage of the Pope's homilies and speeches during his visit, as well as photos and other information, please visit Whispers in the Loggia.]
Pope Benedict XVI's visit definitely stirred hope in many Catholics and others with his message of the need to live our faith despite the difficulties we encounter in our present time. He reminds us that it was never and has never been an easy road to do that in the world, yet at the same time assured us that doing God's will, in the end, would lead to an enduring and lasting footprint we can leave on this earth. It would lead to both freedom and joy.
Our mortality scares many of us. I know this not only because I've helped run a retreat for people with terminal illnesses, but I've watched a number of my friends die at young ages. Watching how they lived knowing that death is approaching and their time on earth is limited has taught me a great deal about how to live.
How blessed I was to know my friend Cindy who had MS and spent her very last bit of energy running an Independent Living Center to help so many. She taught me that no matter how little energy one has, you can always find some way to help. No hands? Use your mouth. No speech? Blink your eyes. The inherent dignity of life remains in each of us to our very last day on earth so strongly that we always have a chance to be that hope for someone else. My 60 pound friend Andy, who died in her early 20's, who spent her nights in an iron lung and whose last words remain with me to this day, a message that I try to pass on to others: the best feeling I ever had was helping someone else.
The Pope's words struck me as a reminder to all of us that we need to remember we are accountable for our mortal time and we are here to show hope to others. We think we can't be that hope to someone else because of our own problems. We're too busy. We don't know enough. We might say the wrong thing. Bottom line: we just don't feel good enough. We forget who we are, which is God's children, spiritual beings.
Each of us, every single day, has a chance to be that hope in an unexpected place to someone else.
[For extensive coverage of the Pope's homilies and speeches during his visit, as well as photos and other information, please visit Whispers in the Loggia.]
Thursday, April 19, 2007
We have to do something about The Boxes
My aide spent hours this afternoon getting rid of boxes. There were big boxes, small boxes, medium sized boxes - all over the place.
Why? Because by the time my aide does everything I need done plus those extra things that happen in life, there is no time left to deal with organizing things . So boxes happen. Clutter starts and grows. And suddenly I'm surrounded by boxes. The boxes become a metaphor for the fact that there's just too much to do.
I get used to them. I roll around the boxes that begin to jut out from the sides of my bed. Then boxes appear in hallways and those extra spaces in corners so that there's just enough room for my wheelchair to get through. Almost like developing body memory, I bump into "new boxes" when they are first placed somewhere but in a few days I learn to go around them. I don't think of them as boxes. I think of them as walls or room divisions. After all I'm a quadriplegic and can't move them at all so once they're placed, they stay put.
Lately it's become clear that something was going to have to be done about the Boxes. I tried to hire a few people to deal with the boxes. Some came once or twice but no one was able to handle the situation. A few ran out when they saw how many boxes had accumulated. Cowards, my aide said to me. Wimps, I agreed. It became apparent that this was yet another thing my aide was going to have to do. We talked about it. "Make a list" my aide said so I wrote down "Do something about The Boxes."
Then yesterday UPS arrived - with three more boxes. There was simply nowhere to put them. It was like a cruel joke. And I emailed her "The next time you come over we HAVE to do something about The Boxes." She wrote back "OK. Will do."
So today my aide arrived wearing combat gear. She has special clothes she wears when she's going to do a Big Job. Boxes were everywhere. She looked around woefully. I felt sorry for her. I watched as she ran her hand through her hair. She took a step back, then held her hands up and said "OK, OK, let me do this. Let me concentrate."
I tried to make a few suggestions but she gave me a look similar to that of Simon Cowell after Sanjaya sings. I sighed and backed off. My aide took things out of small, intermediate and big boxes. Objects flew, papers were stacked and boxes were crushed. Dust rose and fell as she whipped out the hand vac. The cat sat on papers, stepped over things and tried to sit in now empty boxes. I rolled over extension cords, papers and piles of stuff. My aide periodically stopped, looked around frantically at me and the cat and then kept going. For hours. I began to fear for her sanity. I closed my eyes, unable to watch any longer.
And then I heard her say "I'm done."
I opened my eyes. There were no more boxes. Tentatively I rolled around, testing out corners that had reappeared, making turns I hadn't been able to navigate in months and oohing and aahing at the extra space. My aide got herself a diet Coke and stood watching me.
"Thank you," I said.
We hugged. The cat , I think, danced. Maybe not. But the joy was palpable. We were "caught up" despite the system, despite the odds against it - all the things on the "regular list" that need to be done and all the mini emergencies that happen that we dodge and duck.
There is hope in the space that has opened up. For a time, my aide and I can relish the freedom of knowing that we got to The Boxes.
Why? Because by the time my aide does everything I need done plus those extra things that happen in life, there is no time left to deal with organizing things . So boxes happen. Clutter starts and grows. And suddenly I'm surrounded by boxes. The boxes become a metaphor for the fact that there's just too much to do.
I get used to them. I roll around the boxes that begin to jut out from the sides of my bed. Then boxes appear in hallways and those extra spaces in corners so that there's just enough room for my wheelchair to get through. Almost like developing body memory, I bump into "new boxes" when they are first placed somewhere but in a few days I learn to go around them. I don't think of them as boxes. I think of them as walls or room divisions. After all I'm a quadriplegic and can't move them at all so once they're placed, they stay put.
Lately it's become clear that something was going to have to be done about the Boxes. I tried to hire a few people to deal with the boxes. Some came once or twice but no one was able to handle the situation. A few ran out when they saw how many boxes had accumulated. Cowards, my aide said to me. Wimps, I agreed. It became apparent that this was yet another thing my aide was going to have to do. We talked about it. "Make a list" my aide said so I wrote down "Do something about The Boxes."
Then yesterday UPS arrived - with three more boxes. There was simply nowhere to put them. It was like a cruel joke. And I emailed her "The next time you come over we HAVE to do something about The Boxes." She wrote back "OK. Will do."
So today my aide arrived wearing combat gear. She has special clothes she wears when she's going to do a Big Job. Boxes were everywhere. She looked around woefully. I felt sorry for her. I watched as she ran her hand through her hair. She took a step back, then held her hands up and said "OK, OK, let me do this. Let me concentrate."
I tried to make a few suggestions but she gave me a look similar to that of Simon Cowell after Sanjaya sings. I sighed and backed off. My aide took things out of small, intermediate and big boxes. Objects flew, papers were stacked and boxes were crushed. Dust rose and fell as she whipped out the hand vac. The cat sat on papers, stepped over things and tried to sit in now empty boxes. I rolled over extension cords, papers and piles of stuff. My aide periodically stopped, looked around frantically at me and the cat and then kept going. For hours. I began to fear for her sanity. I closed my eyes, unable to watch any longer.
And then I heard her say "I'm done."
I opened my eyes. There were no more boxes. Tentatively I rolled around, testing out corners that had reappeared, making turns I hadn't been able to navigate in months and oohing and aahing at the extra space. My aide got herself a diet Coke and stood watching me.
"Thank you," I said.
We hugged. The cat , I think, danced. Maybe not. But the joy was palpable. We were "caught up" despite the system, despite the odds against it - all the things on the "regular list" that need to be done and all the mini emergencies that happen that we dodge and duck.
There is hope in the space that has opened up. For a time, my aide and I can relish the freedom of knowing that we got to The Boxes.
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