Comedy is the Answer

“I am so busy doing nothing... that the idea of doing anything - which as you know, always leads to something - cuts into the nothing and then forces me to have to drop everything.” - Jerry Seinfeld

“I really believe in comedy, and yes, it might be better than patient treatment. But hey, what do I know? I’m not a doctor; I’m a comic,” - Poppy Champlin

“For me, comedy starts as a spew, a kind of explosion, and then you sculpt it from there, if at all. It comes out of a deeper, darker side. Maybe it comes from anger, because I'm outraged by cruel absurdities, the hypocrisy that exists everywhere, even within yourself, where it's hardest to see.” - Robin Williams

Among the unique gifts humans possess, laughter may be our most significant. While religion is often seen as overly serious, it has deep roots in comedy. I think of Sarah laughing in Genesis 18 at the prospect of becoming pregnant later in life. The elephant-headed Ganesha of the Hindu faith is amusing in his iconography, depicted as a pot-bellied sweet-tooth. He is known as the “laughing god.” He is expected to bring us joy by removing obstacles, much like an elephant can uproot young trees to clear a path through the forest.

The late teacher of Zen Buddhism to the West, Alan Watts, once commented, “I always laugh at the altar, be it Christian, Hindu or Buddhist, because real religion is the transformation of anxiety into laughter.”

The clown is our cultures depiction of humor. He or she often contrasts with more sinister figures. Unlike the witch, who "does not give a rap for dependent needs, tender feelings, or anyone's wish to grow, but simply cackles her characteristic cackle and flies off in the face of human concerns," the clown brings vibrancy and emotion to our world.

The clown embodies feeling itself—making us laugh, cry, and experience the full spectrum of human emotion. We become emotionally invested in each performance: "We gasp with terror as danger stalks him from behind. We howl with relief as he makes his bumbling escape. We sit on the edge of our seats in anticipation of a terrible event about to occur, and yet we rejoice with glee when disaster strikes," wrote Ann Ulanov.

This clown shares traits with the fool and the trickster, serving as catalysts for comic catharsis and reflecting a tension between order and disorder. Their apparent frivolity often hides deeper warnings, as the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard observed: "A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that's just how the world will come to an end: to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke."

Our reactions to clowns are complex. While we may laugh at their antics, we often harbor feelings of pity, fear, or even revulsion. Some individuals develop coulrophobia, an intense fear of clowns, perhaps because the modern clown's endless performance creates psychological dissonance. The need to maintain a constant facade takes its toll as the clown gradually becomes consumed by his shadow—the repressed aspects of his personality. This dark potential most clearly manifests in popular culture's iconic villain, The Joker.

This duality is not new. Medieval theatrical clowns balanced light and dark elements, generating laughter and occasionally dragging audience members into the "Hellmouth," a theatrical device. Indeed, humor has many sides, one cutting and even hurtful, while the other provides joyous emotional relief.

Carl Jung recognized the therapeutic value of humor, as shown in his encounter with a "stiff and solemn New England family" where his attempts at humor were met with condescension until a Black servant responded with genuine laughter: "It was the servant, and it was the real American laughter, that grand, unrestrained, unsophisticated laughter revealing rows of teeth, tongue, palate, everything... How I loved that African brother."

Jung's appreciation for humor was both personal and professional. Renowned for his "hearty sense of humor and a big belly laugh," Jung recognized many benefits of laughter in his clinical practice and personal life.

Scientific research supports Jung's insights into the physical benefits of humor: laughter reduces stress, eases muscle tension, increases dopamine and endorphin levels, lowers cortisol, improves cardiovascular health, and strengthens the immune system. Regular laughter promotes restful sleep, boosts blood oxygen levels, and helps restore bodily balance—a value Jung particularly valued due to his concern about psychological "one-sidedness."

Psychologically, humor offers therapeutic benefits even in severe circumstances. Jung and his students effectively employed jokes to assist patients in recovering from psychotic states. In less extreme situations, laughter alleviates anxiety, enhances psychological resilience, counters depression, and provides perspective during overwhelming events.

Cognitively, laughter regularly enhances brain function, memory, alertness, and problem-solving skills. By offering alternative perspectives, humor boosts creativity and innovation while maintaining practical grounding.

Emotionally, humor neutralizes negative feelings, transforming despair into hope and pessimism into optimism. It provides courage and strength for personal growth while lightening burdens and adding joy to life. In interpersonal contexts, laughter diffuses conflict, enhances teamwork, strengthens bonds between colleagues, and increases personal appeal in romantic situations.

Jung understood humor's power to shift group dynamics, as evidenced in modern workshops where well-timed jokes break through skepticism and facilitate deeper learning experiences.

The spiritual aspect of humor is also evident. Laughter breaks through social masks, fostering authentic living that connects to one's true nature. It supports individuation by showcasing each person's unique sense of humor. The unconscious mind often communicates through wordplay and humor, illustrated by dream symbols that provide reassurance through punning imagery.

Perhaps the old saying, “Confession is good for the soul,” needs an update: “Laughter is good for the soul.” As we've observed, laughter has a confessional tone. In these times when many are feeling distraught, maybe comedy is the answer.

More to Come,

The Desert is a Holy Place

Today is Ash Wednesday in the Christian Church, marking the beginning of Lent. I wrote about this topic a few years back, and you can read it by clicking here. In this essay, I explore the scripture lesson read on the first Sunday of the season of Lent.

Few people would name Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness as one of their favorite stories from the Bible. However, for me, granted I’m a peculiar breed of Christian, it ranks in my top three. Jacob’s wrestling match with an angel and Jonah’s dive into the belly of the fish round out the top.

Perhaps it was my early camping experiences in the high deserts of Southern California or trips to Death Valley, but something about the desert captured my imagination. In 1984, I realized the terrain felt familiar during my first trip to Palestine and Israel. The lands around the Dead Sea and the hills of Bethlehem resonated with youthful hikes in the Mojave Desert.

But the idea that a God-man would be summoned for a deliberate time of temptation was new. I first heard this story while visiting a charismatic church in the San Fernando Valley. I wandered into a Vineyard church with a friend and witnessed wild dancing, singing, and speaking in tongues. We were there because it was the church where Bob Dylan had his conversion experience, and we hoped to catch a glimpse of the poetic songwriter. No luck! However, we did experience quite a show. Along with the exuberant display of emotions, the preacher’s message focused on Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness. I don’t recall anything he said other than the basics of the story.

Now Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wild. For forty wilderness days and nights he was tested by the Devil. He ate nothing during those days, and when the time was up he was hungry. The Devil, playing on his hunger, gave the first test: “Since you’re God’s Son, command this stone to turn into a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered by quoting Deuteronomy: “It takes more than bread to really live.”

For the second test he led him up and spread out all the kingdoms of the earth on display at once. Then the Devil said, “They’re yours in all their splendor to serve your pleasure. I’m in charge of them all and can turn them over to whomever I wish. Worship me and they’re yours, the whole works.” Jesus refused, again backing his refusal with Deuteronomy: “Worship the Lord your God and only the Lord your God. Serve him with absolute single-heartedness.”

For the third test the Devil took him to Jerusalem and put him on top of the Temple. He said, “If you are God’s Son, jump. It’s written, isn’t it, that ‘he has placed you in the care of angels to protect you; they will catch you; you won’t so much as stub your toe on a stone’?” “Yes,” said Jesus, “and it’s also written, ‘Don’t you dare tempt the Lord your God.’” That completed the testing. The Devil retreated temporarily, lying in wait for another opportunity.

Jesus returned to Galilee powerful in the Spirit. News that he was back spread through the countryside. He taught in their meeting places to everyone’s acclaim and pleasure. The Gospel of Luke chapter 4 (The Message)

Perhaps the mix of incense, wild dancing, and former hippies turned Jesus freaks created a tense atmosphere of expectation. Still, the story of Jesus in the desert confronting his demons, which I had never heard, struck a chord.

The traditional, and in my view unhelpful, interpretation of this passage is that Christ went through these temptations as a kind of atonement for the temptations of Adam and Eve. They messed it up, and Christ fixes it. Yes, that’s an oversimplification, but that’s what Protestants heard from preachers for much of the 19th and 20th centuries. However, I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. Instead, this passage shows us how Christ confronts temptations, providing insights into how we can face our temptations.

This aligns more closely with the perspectives of those reading through a Jewish-Christian lens (Thank you, Amy-Jill Levine), who view this text as harmonious with other Judaic texts and consider it a guide for overcoming sin and evil—or, more accurately, for addressing temptation in this life.

The core of temptation lies in the quick fix. All three appeal to our human need for pain resolution. Rabbi Edwin Friedman summarized much of life and ministry as a choice between chronic and acute pain. Using the analogy of cancer and applying it to conflict in churches, organizations, and relationships, he believed that most people would prefer to live with chronic pain. They would choose the persistent irritating discomfort over the acute pain of surgery. An example is a church, community, or country that collectively makes excuses for the bully among them, thus allowing that individual free reign. At the same time, everyone wishes it will all go away instead of confronting the direct acute pain with say, ex-communication or clear boundaries.

We live in an age of Quick Fixes, often called the instant gratification society, which contrasts with delayed gratification. We’d rather support making June 19th a national holiday than confront the issues of structural racism. We prefer to spend $5 a day on coffee, soda, and similar items instead of investing that same amount into a retirement account, allowing it to grow over the long term, thus delaying our reward. This quick-fix mentality permeates every aspect of our society, including politics, entertainment, medical treatment, and diet.

We tend to view these three temptations as obstacles to overcome as quickly as possible, and be happy. As we all know, the pursuit of happiness is the new god we worship. In each of those temptations, Christ is offered the opportunity to take the quick fix. He responds, "Nope, I’m going to take the slow, deliberative, nuanced approach.”

“Learning to live with ambiguity is learning to live with how life really is, full of complexities and strange surprises..:”
― James Hollis, What Matters Most: Living a More Considered Life

My favorite depiction in art of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness is from the 1988 Martin Scorsese film ‘The Last Temptation of Christ.’ I love this film—it’s a tremendous cinematic interpretation of the novel by Nikos Kazantzakis. The novel suggests that Christ’s great temptation was to walk away from the cross and the calling to be a Messiah, choosing instead to live an everyday life as a family man. However, the desert scene of the three temptations, which you can view here, portrays Jesus in an almost dreamlike state as he wrestles with these inner temptations.

John Pitch suggests that this entire story could be seen not as historical but rather as a vision, a dream, or what he refers to as “an altered state of consciousness.” Jesus may not inhabit a physical wilderness but instead a symbolic or metaphorical one. This aligns with Luke’s acceptance of visions, angels, and dreams as means for a vertical encounter with the divine.

But I’d like you to note what happens in Luke’s gospel, something the lectionary chooses to omit. Notice how Luke writes in the last paragraph that “Jesus returned to Galilee, powerful in the Spirit.” So often, we read this story and are left with, and the devil departed until a later opportunity, a reference to the coming crucifixion. But we miss the results of this temptation encounter. Namely, this experience in the desert leaves Jesus “powerful in the Spirit.”

There is strength, renewal, energy, LIFE after the desert wilderness time.

This rings true for most of us. Ask anyone about a time of significant growth or maturation in their lives, and they will often point to stressful periods. They’ll not talk about their recent trip to Honolulu, instead they’ll describe:

• A period of discord in a relationship

• A time of unemployment

• A health scare

• A crisis in their community (or country?)

As people gain some distance from those challenging times, those days, months, or even years in the desert wilderness, they begin to see something new emerge. A new power grows inside them and within their community, providing resources for rebuilding a marriage, career, life, or nation. This is not meant to diminish or dismiss the desert time. It is a harsh place marked by stretches of emptiness and despair. However, we do not survive on despair; we live on hope.

“I think a lot about hope, and these days I mostly just leap and say, “Hope is a muscle.” And what I’m contrasting is, a muscle is different from wishful thinking and it’s different from assuming or believing that things will turn out all right in the end. The way I think about hope is reality-based. It’s not optimism.”

- Krista Tippet in Christianity Today, Jan/Feb issue 2025

Hope arises in the wilderness, which was the place of testing and temptation for the ancient people of Israel in Exodus. The desert wilderness also serves as a place of new beginnings (Isaiah 40:3, Hosea 2:14) and is significant for John the Baptist’s ministry. People encountered the wilderness, some intentionally and others by circumstance. Many died in the howling, arid climate, while others emerged renewed and strengthened. In this story, Jesus is alone in the wilderness with his thoughts, his hunger, his God, and… Satan.

After this event, Jesus is empowered by the Spirit. Perhaps our desert experiences can guide us from the badlands to the Promised Land.

More to come,

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James Hazelwood is an author and photographer. He writes at the crossroads of Spirituality, Depth Psychology and anything else that whizzes through his heart, mind and soul. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

How to Communicate in a Storm

Below is a tool leaders can use to shape their responses to the storm of nonsense we are and will be seeing in the coming years. It’s a clear six-step process for communicating in our new world. I link to the excellent newsletter by Epidemiologist Katelyn Jetelina. Her substack is a must-read for those concerned about Health, Medicine, and Life. Her Substack Newsletter is here.

What follows is my adaptation of a portion of her recent newsletter on communication in our new world. Anyone involved in leadership and communication with people would benefit from using these guidelines. Dr. Jetelina’s original piece focused on health matters; I’ve taken her words and broadened the focus so you can see how it applies to just about any subject. We live in a new world now. Leaders of all types need to adapt and understand how to communicate better in our current context. (I’ve italicized my edits, typically changing from her healthcare-specific language to a broad language)

Navigating the Storm. This is going to be rough—there is no sugar coating it. We were already drowning in a firehose of false information, and this is going to turn up the water pressure. But there are hundreds and thousands of professionals and many more who are committed to evidence-based practice and are not going to give up. Here’s how we do that well.

1. Recognize top-down information doesn’t work anymore.

Historically, information has trickled down from the top. This traditional model clearly does not meet the moment of the 21st century. Institutional sources of information are often confusing, not rapidly updated, and many people simply don’t trust them anymore. Very few institutions understand this, and even fewer are acting upon it.

2. Meet people where they are.

People are searching for information from nontraditional sources like social media, and we need to meet them there, providing answers where they are looking. Falsehoods and rumors often influence people in large part because people are unable to find trustworthy, evidence-based information that is accessible, empathetic, easy to understand, and timely to fill information voids. And, guess what is there to fill the gap? Rumors and falsehoods.

3. Tell more stories.

We don’t have a shortage of data. We don’t just need more facts and charts. We need teachers and storytellers. Because at the end of the day, people remember how you made them feel more than what you said. This means:

• A guide, not a lecture. Someone who can explain complex topics in a way that makes sense.

• Straight answers. If something is uncertain, say that. If there’s a risk, be upfront about it.

• Empathy. Health decisions aren’t just about science—they’re personal. People remember how information made them feel, often more so than what was said. Most of all, people need information that actually helps them make decisions.

  4. Recognize trust isn’t declared—it’s demonstrated.

Being trustworthy is demonstrating over and over again that you are. It’s a set of acts—clarifying uncertainty, revealing authenticity/vulnerability, being human, owning up to mistakes, and consistently behaving in certain ways over time.

It also requires humility. As scientists, community leaders, or institutions, we know a lot, but we don’t know everything. Humility requires listening instead of hearing — learning from communities rather than prescribing solutions from the top down.

5. Don’t turn your anger into shaming others.

One thing we know for sure about communication is that shaming people doesn’t help; it only makes things worse. We are likely to see more decisions that infuriate us. It’s easy to respond in anger and call someone an “idiot” for believing false things they say, but this will only backfire. Vent privately, then keep speaking what’s true—clearly and with kindness—even when it’s difficult. That’s how trust is won back.

6. Keep telling the truth. (Over and over again - repetition is key)

The reality about ____________ does not change depending on who is in charge. When false information gets louder and is repeated over and over, our brains start to want to accept it. Stick with the data, no matter what some questionable source says. In a world where confusion is a tool, clarity is the antidote.

Again, the above is adapted from Your Local Epidemiologist Newsletter so that people in other fields can apply these lessons. I hope this helps.

Jim

Ice Fishing as Spiritual Practice

There is an apocryphal story told about the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung. I heard it from a minister who heard it at a conference from a nun—this was 40 years ago. Who knows if it’s true, but it conveys a truth like a good myth. It goes like this.

A middle-aged man went to see the good doctor due to an ongoing malaise—one of those hard-to-identify issues where something feels off. Perhaps his physician, wife, or co-worker suggested it was time to seek help. The man sits with Dr. Jung and describes his symptoms: melancholy, annoyance with his children, belittling remarks toward co-workers, and poor sleep. After a while, Jung prescribes, “I want you to go home and set aside one hour each week to be by yourself.” That’s it. The man follows Jung’s advice and plans with his family and colleagues to ensure he is not disturbed during this hour. The first week passes, and the man feels great after his hour. The following week, he becomes restless after 30 minutes and picks up a novel. Then, a week later, he puts Beethoven on the phonograph. By the fourth week, he could not stand it after just 10 minutes. He returns to Dr. Jung’s office and shares all this activity. Jung responds, “I didn’t tell you to spend time with a novel or Beethoven. I said to spend an hour with yourself.” Exasperated, the man replies, “A whole hour with just myself? Why, I’d go nuts.” Jung responds, “You mean to tell me you can’t spend one hour with the same person you inflict on everyone else for the rest of the week?”

After wandering among the ice fishermen at Barbin Pond last week, I thought of that story. We’ve had a cold January this year. That deep freeze has transformed the ponds into opportunities for ice skating and the unique practice of ice fishing. This ritual, more common in the upper Midwest, involves men—though not exclusively—staking out a small plot of ice, boring a hole through it, dropping a line, and then waiting. In Minnesota, the capital of ice fishing, it's not unusual for elaborate ice houses to be constructed, some equipped with modern conveniences. But on this day, the men I spoke to basic chairs and the essential beverages. Drop a line and wait. One gentleman answered my inquiry about whether he had any luck by saying, “Yes, indeed, just being here makes me a very lucky man.” He later told me he felt somewhat blessed. I often find that people use the words lucky and blessed as different terms to describe a sense that, at least in that moment, life is good.

Ice fishing might not be the first thing that comes to mind when considering ways to connect with the sacred, but outdoors, on a bright, sunny, crisp day, denying the feeling of being lucky is tough. Sitting on a five-inch-thick slab of ice and staring down a round hole for hours may not be precisely what Dr. Jung prescribed, but I suspect it could still be effective in our easily distracted culture. Ice fishing might be seen as a meditation or a way to spend time with your thoughts and soul. Perhaps in the summer, sitting by a campfire could evoke something similar.

Often, when I share the story about the man and his visit to Dr. Jung, I receive reactions centered on how bored people might feel. One person told me, “Oh God, that sounds awful. I can’t stand being by myself.” For years, I viewed that response through a rather judgmental lens. I believed the person was somehow inferior and elevated myself to an abstract sense of superiority. Recently, I found myself alone—no phone, no music, no podcast, no book, just me. Even though I was in a beautiful location, I noticed how agitated I became after about 20 minutes. Who knows how long it had been since I intentionally left my watch in the car? I tried to fight through it, pushing myself toward a goal I had no way to measure. Finally, another hiker startled me as he came around the bend. Unlike my usual introverted self, I decided to strike up a conversation. Being alone and doing nothing is hard; facing your own thoughts is tough.

In the first and second centuries, a few men and women left the culture and walked into the desert, forming what became a precursor to the monastery. These desert fathers and mothers had a saying, “Your cell will teach you everything.” Spend enough time alone, and you’ll learn much about yourself, your demons, and your God.

In a piece titled The Anti-Social Century, Derek Thompson of the Atlantic details our increasing loneliness, a new pandemic. Citing multiple statistics, interviews, and observations, Thompson reinforces what our most recent Surgeon General identified as an epidemic of loneliness and social isolation. “Far too many Americans lack social connection in one or more ways, compromising these benefits and leading to poor health and other negative outcomes.”

On one hand, being alone can teach us profound lessons; on the other, loneliness can lead to poor health. It’s important to distinguish between being alone and being lonely. I enjoy being alone when focused on writing, photography, planning, listening to music, or reading books. Yet, as mentioned earlier, I can feel quite lonely if I’m left alone.

Human beings crave attention. Any parent knows this from the moment their first child is born. A wail from your son or daughter suggests you need to pay attention. Over time, we all continue variations on that infantile act of wailing, eventually developing more sophisticated tools for getting attention. Hopefully, we minimize the wailing.

Our current challenge is navigating a digital world where attention is commodified. Even more importantly, the tools of that commodification—Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and others—are designed to tap into our deepest human needs, namely attention (how many likes did your latest post get?). On a fundamental level, we measure our status as humans—or what many religious traditions may refer to as our Child of God status—based on how many “friends” appreciate us. That’s a rather sad place to have arrived.

On a soul level, our deepest value is more significant than click ratings. There’s an opportunity to reinterpret Martin Luther’s message: You are righteous not by your social media status but by the perspective that God, the divine, or the sacred (however you choose to define it) has towards you. That attitude of warm embrace is natural and exists beyond us.

But how do we do that?

During a recent retreat I led, I had the participants engage in a simple exercise. While listening to “All My Favorite People” by Over the Rhine as a mantra, I asked everyone to write a thank-you note to one of their favorite people. Given that the song’s lyrics feature the refrain, “All my favorite people are broken, believe me, my heart should know,” the tone and writing choice created a significant moment for the group. As we concluded our day together, one participant shared that the exercise was the most moving part of the weekend and that it was a practice she intended to continue.

We need to be alone, and we need other people. Learning to do both well is key to a spiritually mature life. The ice fisherman of Barbin Pond might be on to something.

The Nudge of Spiritual Formation

Driving across the tundra of upstate New York was never my choice for a spiritual reckoning. Many road trips have fed me through the years, accompanied by a soundtrack of known and forgotten musicians. But this week, as my all-wheel drive Forester navigated snow on Interstate 90, and the blues of Robert Johnson's Crossroad reverberated in the warm cab, I realized most of my spiritual formation occurs in a kind of post-traumatic spiritual disorder.

The oft-overused word 'trauma' gets people's attention in our hyperbolic culture. I'm using the term here to reference those micro-moments when your thoughts collide with what you witness. The dissonance can be jarring or, more likely, a simple nudge. Mine was a nudge, so ok, 'trauma' is overplayed, and I'm guilty as the rest of society. Let's try ‘post-thinking spiritual dissonance,’ as in the rational collided with the somewhat mystical on the turnpike. That sounds like lyrics Tom Waits might consider.

The arctic blast that left a blanket of snow and minus zero temps and moody skies of white and pale grey clouds reminded me of other times the road rearranged my sense of God and self. The interaction between those two always seems jumbled, especially as the miles of pavement disappear underneath me.

On this occasion, the road took me to western New York state, Bemus Point to be precise, and a gathering of pastors eager to mine the scriptures in preparation for the upcoming season of Lent. That time of the church year between Ash Wednesday and Holy Week when Christians embrace Lament and the long road of an apprenticeship with sorrow. Considering the best of times-worst of times we find ourselves, I thought ‘Lament’ an appropriate engagement. I'd been wrestling with authors Francis Weller and Stephen Jenkinson, whose writings on death, grief, and sorrow seemed fitting, not just for Lent or these times but for life. Strangely, dying always seems to heighten living.

Our conversations at the retreat heightened how Luke's Gospel seemed obsessed with including the Holy Spirit as an accompaniment for every step of Jesus' life. From birth in a muddy cave, through a time of wilderness temptation, in his travels in hostile lands, and leading up to his welcome by a rag-tag group of desperate souls and the final cluster-show in Jerusalem. My return trip on the road allowed for reflection time. I was brewing and stewing as the snow and salt-covered roads lay before me. The back burner of my psyche simmered on how an accompanying Spirit hangs with Jesus in the wilderness and with me in times of mud, temptation, hostility, and desperation.

I confess. I've been avoiding the craziness of these best of times-worst of times. LA Fires, DC dumpster fire, friends with cancer fire – ugh, just stop! Brewing and stewing on Luke's Gospel and the conversations around our societies' need to explore the grief we all know, leads me back to Lament, that age-old human practice of deeply acknowledging people's soft and tender spots - those wounds from long ago. Weller calls on our need to hold an apprenticeship with sorrow.

"To be human is to know loss in its many forms," writes Weller., "This should not be seen as a depressing truth. Acknowledging this reality enables us to find our way into the grace that lies hidden in sorrow. We are most alive at the threshold between loss and revelation; every loss ultimately opens the way for a new encounter."

Francis Weller The Wild Edge of Sorrow

"Find our way into the grace that lies hidden in sorrow." Can a few words describe more profoundly what hit me on the road? I think not. Bullseye!

The best of time-worst of times unravel around us, and yet rather than avoid them, the Spirit nudged me into grief. The grief we likely all know deep inside or just under the surface. Our lives seem unmanageable, and admitting our powerlessness might be a starting point. The moment stuck in my throat and chest and welled in my eyes.

Jim Morrison, the frontman for the 60's group The Doors, carrying deep wounds himself, sang, "No one here gets out alive." Which could become a rallying cry for a 2025 nihilism. Tempting. Instead, I'll merge those lyrics with some ancient Hebrew and land here:

Praised is the One for showing me the wonder of divine kindness,

Even in a city under siege.

I have said in my panic,

"I am cut off from before your eyes."

But you heard the voice of my plea,

The note of desperation when I cried out for help.

Excerpt from Psalm 31 (The Complete Psalms by Pamela Greenberg)

We wander in a land of grief and sorrow, but the Spirit seems hell-bent on accompanying us. At least, that’s what the road, and the snow and the blues music man revealed to me this week.

More to Come,

Appreciating the Dream

Over the weekend, I found a cardboard box marked US Media Mail on our front doorstep. I didn't recognize the return address, but upon opening the box, I exclaimed, "Oh, I had completely forgotten about this project." Several years ago, Duke University asked me to contribute an essay to a new volume focused on spiritual practices. Experience: Spiritual Formation in Theological Field Education is the result. It's a collection of 43 short essays. Each chapter presents a different perspective on spiritual practices, from singing to breadmaking to one titled "Trees, Rocks, Water, Hills." I wrote the chapter on Dream Appreciation and included a portion of that essay below. If you've read my book Dreaming as Spiritual Practice, you'll recognize elements of that book in this essay.

Next week, I’ll teach a course called “Dreams of the Bible and Other Sacred Literature” at the United Lutheran Seminary. Some of you have asked about this class, and I’ll be working on an online presentation of the material. I’ll let you know when that’s ready, and maybe we can have a Zoom session or two on the subject matter. I’ll keep you posted.

May you have epiphanies during this season of Epiphany.

Jim

A Dream Journal;

Dreams have long fascinated, frightened, and intrigued us. It's no wonder that interpreting and appreciating dreams extend back to the beginning of time. Ancient societies embraced dreams as part of spiritual practice, offering a gateway into the depths of the human psyche and the divine. The art of decoding dreams holds a transformative power, guiding individuals and whole societies toward self-discovery, healing, and spiritual growth.

In the Hebrew Bible, the amazing, confounding, and delightful book of Job includes a curious character named Elihu. He arrives on the scene after many of Job's friends have offered countless explanations for why Job is suffering. During the dialogue between Job and Elihu, Job expresses his disgust with God and wonders, "What good is this God anyway, and why do we even need God?" (My paraphrase.) In Chapter 33, Elihu delivers a speech that contains this often-overlooked insight.

"But let me tell you, Job, you're wrong, dead wrong! God is far greater than any human. So how dare you haul him into court and then complain that he won't answer your charges? God always answers, one way or another, even when people don't recognize his presence. In a dream, for instance, a vision at night, when men and women are deep in sleep, fast asleep in their beds— God opens their ears and impresses them. - (Job 33:12-15, The Message)

How does God answer our prayers, laments, and pleas for guidance? Elihu offers one answer. "In a dream, for instance, a vision at night, when men and women are deep in sleep, fast asleep in their beds." The Hebrew and New Testament Scriptures are filled with dreams: Jacob dreams of angels descending the ladder in Genesis 28:12. Joseph serves as the interpreter of Pharoah's dreams in Genesis 41:1-36. Solomon encounters God in a dream in 1 Kings 3:5-15. Joseph receives a visitation in a dream in Matthew 1:20-25. In Matthew 27:19, Pontius Pilate's wife reports a dream of great significance, which is ignored.

Dreams are central to many of the world's religions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam. Some researchers speculate that dreams and death might be the twin towers shaping faith development in human beings dating back to the earliest hominids. The theory goes that as our ancestors witnessed the loss of family and tribal members to death, they met them in the dream world. This led to storytelling, followed by rituals around campfires, which may have included chanting, dancing, and reciting dreams that provided meaning and comfort to grieving people. The origins of spirituality and the religious impulse may be found in dreams. It's possible our ancestors gathered around the village campfire and told of seeing their loved ones who had passed away in their dreams. Over time, rituals that included song and dance were added to these gatherings. One can catch glimpses of the beginning of religion in this process. (Kelley Bulkeley, Dreaming in the World's Religions: A Comparative History, 7-8.)

Dreams are very much a part of human beings' sacred journey. While the language is not always straightforward because the unconscious speaks in symbolic language, dreams are among the ways God speaks to people. Could dreams be a part of spiritual direction in a congregation or another context? Yes, they could, and many have conducted dream groups in various settings, including churches, synagogues, prisons, schools, hospitals, libraries, and other community settings.

What are dreams? In recent years, we've learned that dreams are closely related to the stage of sleep known as REM sleep, so named because of the rapid-eye movements one can witness while another is sleeping. Approximately four or five times in an average person's evening of sleep, we drop down into this state of the sleep cycle. In case you are wondering, most mammals dream. This electrochemical activity produces images and storylines. During this time, parts of our brains become highly active. The general conclusion of researchers is that the brain does not "turn off;" instead, it kicks into high gear.

The theories around dreams are varied, but most people now believe that dreams connect our conscious minds with our unconscious minds. This is at the heart of the research conducted in the late 19th and early 20th centuries by people like Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung. A lesser-known researcher named Fritz Perls developed the concept that dreams are a pathway to integration. We grow, mature, and move toward wholeness as we integrate aspects of our unconscious into our conscious mind. Perls, Jung, and others further developed the idea that dreams serve many functions:

“Dreams help our bodily health. Dreams help us integrate strong emotions. Dreams engage in creative problem-solving. Dreams weave new learning into our memory. Dreams are compensatory.” Fritz Perls

Dreams can be just plain weird. But they are also filled with powerful symbolic imagery. For instance, a man I know left his career as an executive to become a public school teacher. As he made this transition, he dreamt of a baby surrounded by light floating over the threshold of a doorway he was to walk through. He came to view this dream as a symbol of stepping through the opening to a new chapter in life.

In my late 40s, I experienced a time of significant anxiety about my career as a minister. At the time, I doubted my role and worth. I had a dream in which I welcomed a bishop who was to preach at my church, which appeared as an old decaying stadium in crumbling ruins. After the worship service, the bishop introduced a woman to me. She looked at me and said, "You must rebuild your pastorate." In retrospect, the dream is relatively straightforward, but I remember not telling anyone about it for years because it contained some other disturbing elements. My dream informed me that I needed to begin the task of my second half of life: rebuilding an interior pastorate. This word, pastorate, originates from the Latin pascere, to lead to pasture, and the noun "pastor," a shepherd. Indeed, my calling shifted from rebuilding that old stadium in ruins to building an interior pasture, a lush, fertile land suitable for growing new crops.

Sigmund Freud once wrote that dreams are the royal road to the unconscious. Before Freud and Jung, there were the mystics, the shamans, and the medicine men and women who helped people incubate the imagery and symbols emerging from within. Indeed, the gods were the sources of health and healing. Yahweh spoke to the Hebrew people of old. Elihu was right. His often-ignored speech from the book of Job is an ancient reminder that God speaks to people through dreams. They are but one way to wisdom, however weird that may be.

More to Come,

James Hazelwood is the author of several books, including Ordinary Mysteries: Reflections on Faith, Doubt, and Meaning. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net. This “Notebooks” newsletter is typically published twice a month on Substack.

Across the Threshold

January marks a beginning, which implies an ending. The new year cast a forward-looking vision, and the calendar's turn has us looking back. We spent December considering the year through best-of lists, recollections of those who passed away, and our subjective reviews – a kind of evaluative posture, if you will. Now, the turn to a new month and a new year.

Named after the ancient Roman god Janus, an animistic spirit of thresholds, often depicted with two faces, one facing forward and the other backward. Ancient people sought a mythical poetic way of capturing the idea of crossing a portal from one time to another. Hence, the first month of the year was named January around 700 B.C.E., replacing March, which had previously marked the turning of the calendar. Later reforms by Ceasar and then Christians in the Gregorian calendar kept the name and dating.

Depending on one's stage in life, you'll view this threshold time of year differently. There's a broad generalization that the younger you are, the more forward-looking you might be, while the opposite could be true for those rich in years. While that may be true, I'll suggest that one of the distinctive characteristics of our psyche/soul might be that it leans toward a forward-moving perspective. Something in us pulls us forward in life.

"…man does not live very long in the infantile environment or the bosom of his family without real danger to his mental health. Life calls him forth to independence, and he who gives no heed to this hard call because of childish indolence and fear is threatened by a neurosis, and once the neurosis has broken out it becomes more and more a valid reason to escape the battle with life and to remain for all time in the morally poisoned infantile atmosphere."
― C.G. Jung, Psychology of the Unconscious

This attitude is at the heart of the call to adventure, the call to growth, the call to become. Yes, that call can be encumbered by various societal, familial, and individual factors, but deep within each human being, this call from one side of the threshold to the next remains. This is why humanity, despite all its problems, continues to evolve. Yes, it's pretty easy to joke about the end of progress, the lack of evolution, and the dysfunction of people and society. I get that, and I've made those same jokes myself.

Regardless of the frailty of our condition, our propensity for incompetence, and our cowardness, we still seem desirous of what can be. This yearning is both spiritual and material. It's rooted in something larger than us, and we wish to move towards it, however vague that something may seem. It's also connected with our longing to create. To make our lives and our world better. Thus, we build houses, feed people, and pursue artistic projects. 

Sure, we can live in dismay at the times. But to quote that great Middle Earth Theologian of the Lord of the Rings, Gandalf

"I wish it not have happened in my time," said Frodo.
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

As we step across the threshold into 2025, what will you do with the life you have been given?

My Favorite Books from 2024

One of the advantages of retirement (aka redirected) is time for reading. What follows is not a best of 2024 (and late 2023) published books but a list of those I most enjoyed. You’ll note I’m more of a non-fiction reader. I’m sure some great novels were published in the past year, but that’s not where I find myself in nearby bookstores.

Here’s my list in no particular order

The Most Fun One

Willie, Waylon, and the Boys: How Nashville Outsiders Changed Country Music Forever by Brian Fairbanks

I never considered myself a country music fan, mainly because my exposure had been to the sugary pop versions offered in the 1980s and 90s. But a comment by drummer Levon Helm of The Band described the intersection of streams of American music of Jazz, Blues, and Folk all converging to form the underpinnings of rock and Roll stood out for me. Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin unearthed some real roots treasures with his Band of Joy. Then, this book sealed the connection to country music for me. I’m more partial to the Americana versions in today’s ever-expanding sound, but Willie, Waylon, and the Boys (and Girls, I’d add) provided insights and storylines I never knew. For instance, Waylon Jennings was a guitar player in Buddy Holly’s band. By pure random luck, he missed the plane that killed Holly. This is not the most profound book on this list, but it was the most fun to read. It’s listed first because my library edition copy joins me on my visits to coffee shops.

Three for the Psychological and Spiritual Reader

This is an area I spend a ton of time reading, so it’s been hard to limit this list. Haidt’s book is well known, well researched and debated. If you’ve got a friend who is always on their phone, teenagers seemingly living in that space, or you are just concerned about the impacts of phones and social media, you might want to read this book. After reading The Anxious Generation, you’ll likely support initiatives like banning cell phones from schools and giving yourself some time off from so-called Social media. Brewster’s book looks at Carl Jung’s psychology from the lens of an African American. Half of the book reviews his theories, and the other half, while embracing the basic ideas, then offers helpful critiques and alternative ways of approaching specific aspects, such as dream appreciation in non-white cultures. The Spirituality of Dreaming is my recommended book for people starting on dream appreciation. Bulkeley is likely the top dream researcher and writer at the intersection of religion and dreams. He’s taken decades of his work and written an accessible guide.

The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness by Jonathan Haidt

Race and the Unconscious by Fanny Brewster

The Spirituality of Dreaming by Kelley Bulkeley

On the Creative

Years ago, I told everyone I knew they needed to read Stephen Pressfield. His book The War of Art remains the classic in the field. But these two books, one by Adam Moss and the other by music producer Rick Rubin, belong on your bookshelf. Last month, I wrote about the creative impulse as an antidote to our crazy times. These books help explain why. Rubin’s The Creative Act is the more philosophical of the two. It can sit on your nightstand so you can read a chapter before going off to bed. Moss’s The Work of Art leans more practical with tons of examples. A favorite is an essay by film director Sofia Coppola as she describes her work, including her time with actor Bill Murray for the movie Lost in Translation. These books are not read-through; they are open and read a small section, letting that churn around in your soul for a while.

The Work of Art: How Something Comes from Nothing by Adam Moss

The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin

For the Poetic in Mind 

Very few people would put Marilynne Robinson, most known for her novel Gilead, in the poetry category, especially considering her focus is on the Hebrew Bible book of Genesis. Yet, her treatment of this first book of the bible is so unusual that it strikes me as poetic. How has some of this information not become scholarly commentaries on the Old Testament? Robinson helps us see these old stories with fresh eyes and understanding. For instance, the famed narrative of the sacrifice of Isaac is retold as a tale against infanticide, as opposed to the simplistic interpretations and theological hoop-jumping around theodicy most often espoused. This book should be a resource for anyone considering a class, sermon, or film about this book central to the origins of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. British poet Malcolm Guite is always delighted with his sonnets. In 2024, he released an updated version of Sounding the Seasons. It’s one thing to read Guite, but it’s a whole new experience to listen to him, which you can do on his website. Many people say the same about poet/essayist David Whyte. He fancies repeating lines from his poems when he reads them aloud. Some seem to like that, but I find it irritating. It’s as if he’s telling me this is essential here, so listen carefully. I prefer reading Whyte; his latest release just arrived in today’s mail. Consolations II is a second volume of essays on ordinary living. In the mundane, he steers the reader to witness something extraordinary. I need that reminder.

Reading Genesis by Marilynne Robinson

Sounding the Seasons enlarged edition: One Hundred and Ten Sonnets for Christian Year By Malcolm Guite

Consolations II by David Whyte

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That’s a wrap on some good reads. There was also great music in 2024. I’ll just give you one. If you like Jazz, check out Burnette Thompson’s American Rhapsody, which takes traditional music from the three continents of Africa, Europe, and North America and spins some lovely meditative tunes.

Until Next Time,

James Hazelwood is an author and photographer exploring the intersection of spirituality and everyday life. His most recent book is Ordinary Mysteries, a collection of essays on finding meaning in contemporary events. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net This essay was originally published on my free Substack Newsletter.

Who Really Needs Thanksgiving After All

Thanksgiving is the quintessential week for gratitude here in the United States. We celebrate Thanksgiving as an autumn harvest festival (sorta), though it strikes me that we are a bit late in that cycle of the seasons. Most countries around the northern hemisphere lift the harvest in October.  Abraham Lincoln officially established the fourth Thursday of November as a national holiday 1863 amid the Civil War.

However, the practice of gratitude is worth attending to for numerous reasons beyond this week alone. It’s a remedy for our wandering mind, filled with worries or other forms of negative thinking. Life becomes a struggle to survive instead of the fulfillment of great promise.

If you are like me and other human beings, you have moments when you feel stressed or anxious and other times when life just depresses you. What do you do in those moments? One option is to wallow in misery. Sometimes that is satisfying…for a bit. Eventually, I would prefer to move out of that state, but I don’t want to do so without asking essential questions about what lesson I might need to learn from this buy of melancholy or anxiousness.

Yet there are moments when I need to move beyond the mellow yellow or the ginned-up worry. What to do then?

I know this may sound counter-intuitive, even ridiculous. But the answer is to give thanks. Yup, offer gratitude for something, anything. Thank you that I have shoes. I’m grateful for the ability to read. Muchas gracias por el baño de mi casa. Yes, I’ve stated gratitude for indoor plumbing, antibiotics, and baseball—no connection between those three. I find saying it out loud gives it more power. After about 30-60 seconds of offering gratitude, I have found my mood improves, and that little nonsense I was worried about fades. In brief, I suddenly seem to wake up out of my mellow yellow stew.

I learned this from the psychologist Phil Stutz, featured in the Netflix documentary Stutz. (Careful observers of the film will see a scene where Phil Stutz and the actor Jonah Hill are thumbing through Carl Jung’s Red Book) Phil writes about the practice of gratitude in his imminently practical and contender for maybe the most honest down-to-earth self-help book ever written, titled The Tools: 5 Tools to Help You Find Courage, Creativity, and Willpower--And Inspire You to Live Life in Forward Motion. It may also get the award for the longest subtitle evah!

The actor Jonah Hill with Psychologist Phil Stutz

 Here’s a link to the first 28 pages for a free preview. I find this book widely available at most public libraries.

The week ahead might be an opportunity to offer gratitude to someone else. But maybe the person who needs a short 60-second run of giving thanks is you.

Embrace the week ahead. It’s the only one you have.

More to Come,

James Hazelwood, author, and photographer, writes and captures mystery and spirituality in the ordinary and every day, sometimes even the mundane and the muddy. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

HOW I PLAN TO NAVIGATE THE NEXT FOUR YEARS

I'm on the West Coast this week, visiting family and friends and soaking in some sun. A few of you have written to me about last week's essay following the US elections. I could summarize the emails into two categories. 90% centered around the question, "How are you/we surviving this election?" The other 10% are captured in the email: "I'm unsubscribing since clearly your politics don't match mine." Both are fair and since my Substack newsletter "Notebooks" is not mandatory reading, everyone is free to read or discard it as they wish. In this essay, I'm going to focus on the first question.

I had always planned for "Notebooks" to attempt a view of life that grapples with how a religious/spiritual life can still be robust in an increasingly irreligious culture. That holds, and I'll continue along that path. However, the 2024 US presidential election results are on many readers' minds. We must figure out the best way forward for the next four years. Here's my plan. You can beg, borrow, steal, or share from this list. Or simply ignore it all, and develop your own.

1.     I'm stepping back from engaging in the daily drama of political pornography. I'll abandon my anemic television-watching subscriptions to national newspapers and other websites. I'll find different ways to stay informed. Candidly, I'm not sure what those will be, but I can't let the poison of the daily drama unfolding dominate my psyche. Years ago, a colleague pointed out that everyone has a devotional practice. He said, "For most people, it's scrolling Social Media, binge-watching mindless television, and gossiping about co-workers." It's a sharp critique, but since we are about to see four years of adolescent drama and manure unfold, I need to step back from it.

2.     I need an alternative devotional practice. I intend to embrace two artistic and poetic imagination forms – music and poetic literature. I'll sprinkle in the visual arts as well. Listening to Bruce Cockburn, Joni Mitchell, Bob Marley, and Over the Rhine will take me into imaginative places that will cultivate my soul. Reading the poetry of Walt Whitman, Gary Snyder, Mary Oliver, and Langston Hughes is more likely to stir an engagement with the world that is both meaningful and productive. Viewing Ansel Adams, Georgia O'Keefe, Diego Rivera, and Banksy's visual arts might just stir a new kind of activism.

3.     Everyone needs to ask a question for themselves. That question is, what story do I want to live in? Ancient people had that determined for them as their religion or mythology gave sense and purpose to their lives and the tribe's connection to the cosmos. Today, people are falling into another one and losing that externally determined mythos. The two dominant and interwoven stories for people are political and economic. Polarizing ideology and consumer capitalism are now the dominant narratives. We define ourselves by what team we are on, red or blue, and how much we can acquire or produce. Those narratives don't yield much for the soul. They devour the soul. I yearn for something more profound. I want to live in a story that reminds me I'm part of rhythms that extend back in time and forward in application. I'll continue that exploration as I seek wisdom, faith, and depth that connect me with a story worth living.

4.     I'm not walking away from civics. In fact, maybe I’ll dive into the Enlightenment philosophers like Hobbes and Rousseau to unearth the influencers who helped influence Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison. Yes, like many who had hoped we would turn the page on the ugly divisiveness of the Trump Show, I fantasized about moving to another country. But everywhere I looked, it had its problems. So, I'm staying put. Someone must join the resistance. Inevitably, there will be a blowback. Soon, there will be elections, including 2026 House and Senate seats, and a year likely to favor candidates opposed to the extremism we will see unfolding. I'll be there for those and others. But for now, I'm catching my breath.

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Russel Moore, whom I read for his ethical observations, not his articulation of faith, recently reminded his readers of the late Trappist Monk Thomas Merton. During the tumult of the 1960s—war, civil unrest, assassinations— Merton argued that his ability to speak to all of those things was not despite but because of his vocation as a Trappist monk, devoted to silence and solitude.

"Someone has to try to keep his head clear of static and preserve the interior solitude and silence essential for independent thought," Merton wrote. He continues,

A monk loses his reason for existing if he simply submits to all the routines that govern the thinking of everybody else. He loses his reason for existing if he simply substitutes other routines of his own! He is obliged by his vocation to have his mind if not to speak it. He has got to be a free man.

Merton concludes by saying, "What did the radio say this evening? I don't know."

But, anyone who has read Merton knows he knew the plights of a country at war with others and itself. Among the ways I plan to navigate the coming DTSS (Donald Trump $#!% Show) will be to walk carefully in our culture's dramatization of everything. Do I need to know every piece of manure that will demand our attention? For my own emotional and spiritual well-being, the answer is no. But do I need to be cultivating wisdom and creativity for a more sustained response? Yes.

I'll likely be reading more about Thomas Merton as well.

Thomas Merton with the Dali Lama

The Hot Seeds

After the US election results were determined, my brother and woodcut artist Art Hazelwood sent me the following from the poet Gary Snyder. It’s part of Snyder’s book No Nature and includes reflections from his summer serving as a fire lookout in the Cascades in the 1950s. But as you’ll see, Washington can have two meanings here.

I’ve been struggling to find words for the past 24 hours. I recognize you didn’t sign up for this newsletter expecting political content, so I’ll try to string a thread here that acknowledges this country's recent decision while also applying a metaphor for other contexts.

My wife and I attended Bruce Cockburn’s solo concert Sunday evening at the Odeum in East Greenwich. I’ve long been a fan but have never seen him live. His songs meld a delightful mix of the spiritual, prophetic, and silly - not easy to pull off well, but he does. I secured an autographed copy of his memoir, Rumors of Glory, and last night, choosing to leave the television dark, I read these words:

“We are on a great journey, through darkness and dawn, across time, though sometimes I fear that our journey is about to end. We must not succumb to fear or avarice; we must continue to embrace life, seek light, and gather in the charity of night. This is what God wants from us and for us. Mirrors of the past shine with the hues of unborn days, stars glitter in the dark night to light our way.” Bruce Cockburn, Rumors of Glory, p. 20.

There it was, plopped between stories about his high school years as a disaffected teen in early 1960s Canada. There it was for me—a gift I needed. Perhaps we all need a gift when all seems bleak, be it facing an upcoming surgery, the prospect of a relationship collapsing, or an election result we had not desired.

The thread in all of this is the archetype of the eternal return, the resurrection, new life, and hope springing eternally. We see it in the Hindu mythology of Kali & Shiva, gods representing the forces of destruction, creation and compassion. It is there in the Christian narrative of Christ’s death and resurrection. It is even in the laws of thermodynamics where entropy is associated with a state of disorder, randomness, or uncertainty and yet also a part of the creation process.

Wherever you are today, we all know the experience of loss, despair, and defeat. Live life long enough, and you’ll experience it. Am I right? Those events are as natural as manure, death, and loss. Well, also know that “the hot seeds steam underground still alive.”

More to come,

The Labyrinth at Chartres

While the Bicycling with the Saints and Sinners ride ended in Tours, France, a tad more abruptly than planned, the labyrinth in the Chartres Cathedral captured my energy. Following a minor bicycle accident that limited my riding, my friend Loren and I rented a vehicle and drove a couple of hours north to Chartres.

I had long been attracted to the labyrinth in the Chartres Cathedral, so I fully embraced this opportunity. Something about the symbolism, with its mandala-like appearance, beckons.

The labyrinth is one of human culture's most ancient and widespread symbols. Designs dating back to the Neolithic period have been discovered in various parts of the world, from prehistoric rock carvings and cave paintings to intricate patterns on the floors of medieval cathedrals. The labyrinth is a winding path toward some center of hope and wholeness and, I suggest, a hint of the sacred spans all religions and cultures.

Some people can intentionally walk the whole labyrinth slowly and meditatively. Others battle the urge to treat the experience like a race car driver having just sipped the last few drops of an afternoon espresso. Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz Weber says she sometimes gets road rage in a labyrinth as she wants to rush through the maze. I fall somewhere in the middle, the muddled middle. I’m in a hurry to slow down.

Chartres was relatively open on the day we visited. We were early enough to avoid the tour buses that would arrive in the afternoon. In delightful English with a strong French accent, the guide at the entrance to the labyrinth explained there are no right or wrong ways to proceed, and if you wish to pass someone moving slower than you, you may do so. She concluded by asking that once you arrive at the center, you may take some time, but be mindful that there are others behind you hoping to enter as well. "So take your time, but not too much time," she said.

I entered the path and noticed the twists and turns, and the many people around me were also encountering twists and turns. The metaphor was clear to me. This labyrinth is our path in life. Initially, the path takes an almost direct approach toward the center but then veers off, even in the opposite direction. Back and forth, closer and farther, the journey unfolds. Around me, people from every part of the globe walked their path, yet we were on the same path.

What is a labyrinth?

The first known labyrinths seem to date back to Pliny the Elder, who mentions them in his writings. The symbol appears on coins around 400 BCE. The maze features prominently in Greek mythology. The first known labyrinth in the early church seems to have been installed in North Africa at the entrance of San Reparatus, likely around the year 334 CE. Could it be that the labyrinth mirrored the arduous path of life in those times?

The symbol entered medieval manuscripts and architecture in France and Italy around the 11th century. The yellow and brown stones of the labyrinth in the Chartres Cathedral were laid on the floor early in the 13th century, occupying the nave's width. The form of a cross spans the labyrinth, and a flower with six petals appears in its center, creating a design of balance and harmony. Its geometric design has prompted many mathematical, architectural, and symbolic studies. The Cathedral intends to demonstrate (and experience) the intersection of the divine and human worlds. There is much that can be interpreted from the structure of this labyrinth, among them its 276 stones, which some interpret as a parallel to the nine months of human gestation.

Carl Jung was fascinated by the labyrinth, recognizing its profound psychological significance. He saw in its convoluted form a powerful representation of the circuitous path of Individuation – the lifelong process of psychic growth and self-realization. For Jung, navigating the labyrinth of the psyche, with its blind alleys and sudden turns, was an essential part of the quest for wholeness and meaning.

In his essay on the Structure of the Psyche, Jung remarks, "The psyche is a self-regulating system that maintains its equilibrium just as the body does. Every process that goes too far immediately and inevitably calls forth compensations, and without these there would be neither a normal metabolism nor a normal psyche. In this sense the psyche is a labyrinth, for the labyrinth is a paradoxical structure in which the way in is simultaneously the way out. Whoever travels the labyrinth must, therefore, constantly turn back and retrace his steps as though returning to the beginning."

Personally, I believe the connection between the labyrinth and Carl Jung's concept of the path of Individuation makes sense. I see a parallel in the lifelong path of discipleship in Christ's life and teachings. Both are different ways of expressing the pilgrimage from birth to death. We are talking about life and the patience, dedication, and faith needed to follow a path of ups and downs, twists and turns, all leading to a place of wisdom and the sacred.

The most prolific author on the modern resurgence of the labyrinth as a spiritual practice is Episcopal Priest Lauren Artress. In her book Walking a Sacred Path: Rediscovering the Labyrinth as a Spiritual Practice, Artress describes walking the labyrinth as a form of "body prayer" to engage the whole self in meditation. This may explain my attraction to walking prayer in a labyrinth or a wildlife refuge rather than sitting. The body's physical movement through the labyrinth's turns and counter-turns mirrors the soul's journey through the complexities of the inner world.

Joseph Henderson, writing about the labyrinth in the online ARAS center, reminds us that this body-prayer may have its roots in the form of feminine spirituality:

The design at Chartres embodies also a cross, and at the center of the labyrinth is a design suggesting the mystic rose, so that the sacred space embodies the way of Christ (the cross) and the compassion of Mary (the rose). At the same time, the labyrinth suggests that the inward path to the center exists as a parallel to the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the spiritual center of this and other biblical traditions.

Chartres was, above all, sacred to the Virgin Mary. In exploring this image, the viewer finds in the record bibliographical references to numerous works to be read for further amplification of the symbolism. Other references lead the viewer back to the earlier forms of the symbol. In this way, it becomes clear that the labyrinth expresses a fundamental experience of death and renewal through the healing power of the archetypal feminine.

What we’ve discovered here in the labyrinth is a symbol of something that resonates with the very soul of humanity. In various forms, the labyrinth conjures up a womb

Or perhaps even the galaxy

Is a labyrinth something so deeply ingrained in all of life that we can’t help but find it a powerful symbol?

But do I need to go to France to walk a labyrinth? No. Plenty of them are nearby, and you can find them on this website.

https://labyrinthlocator.org

More to come.

James Hazelwood is an author, photographer and speaker. His work centers around connecting the ordinary and everyday aspects of life with a spirituality that works for 21st century people. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

Dreaming as Spiritual Practice

“We both had dreams,” they answered, “but there is no one to interpret them.” Then Joseph said to them, “Do not interpretations belong to God? Tell me your dreams.” Genesis 40:8

The other night, I had a dream. The combination of images and stories involving campsites in the wild with magical, fantastical creatures, medieval churches, and an inflatable Macy’s Day parade-style float of a cartoonish Martin Luther beamed through my mind, body, and soul. There is nothing like dreaming to confirm how wonderfully complicated and mysterious humans can be. We are indeed creatures of imagination. Yes, I took this dream to my spiritual director, who opened it up even further, not by telling me what it meant but by asking questions that further expanded my views of life and the many ways God speaks to us through dreams.

The poet Sarojini Naidu captures the wonder of dreaming in the context of her native culture of India.

Once in the dream of a night I stood

Lone in the light of a magical wood,

Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;

And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,

And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,

And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed

In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

While almost everyone dreams, not all of us attend to them. Some say, “Of course I dream, but who knows what they are about?” Others say, “I never dream” and still others say, “I think I understand them, but I know I’m not getting to the heart of them.”[1]

For this reason, I’m publishing a small booklet on embracing and understanding our dreams today. This booklet is an updated version of the epilogue that appeared in my book Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life. It's intended for people looking for an overview of the practice of dream appreciation for spiritual growth.

Carl Jung reminds us of the great challenge of understanding our dreams in one of his earlier books, Analytical Psychology.

“Dreams are as simple or as complicated as the dreamer is himself, only they are always a little bit ahead of the dreamer's consciousness. I do not understand my own dreams any better than any of you, for they are always somewhat beyond my grasp and I have the same trouble with them as anyone who knows nothing about dream interpretation.”  Carl Jung

My book won’t tell you what your dreams mean, but it will provide you with an introduction to several ways to appreciate dreams in the context of your spiritual growth. Below is the summary blurb from the Amazon page describing the book.

Dreaming as Spiritual Practice by James Hazelwood explores the profound connection between dreams and spiritual growth. Drawing on ancient traditions, biblical references, and modern psychological theories, Hazelwood delves into dreams' transformative power. This book offers readers a comprehensive guide to understanding and using dreams as a tool for self-discovery, healing, and spiritual enrichment.

Hazelwood takes readers on a journey through the mystical landscapes of the dream world, illustrating how dreams have been a source of divine insight and personal revelation throughout history. He highlights the role of dreams in various religious traditions, from the Bible to Buddhism. He underscores their significance in guiding individuals toward a deeper understanding of themselves and their place in the universe.

Through practical advice and personal anecdotes, "Dreaming as Spiritual Practice" provides readers with various approaches to dream interpretation and appreciation. Hazelwood emphasizes the importance of engaging with dreams in a communal setting, offering detailed guidelines for creating and participating in dream groups. This collective exploration allows for a richer and more nuanced understanding of the symbolic language of dreams.

Whether you are new to the world of dream work or a seasoned practitioner, "Dreaming as Spiritual Practice" offers valuable insights and techniques to enhance your spiritual journey. This book is an invitation to embark on a profound inner adventure, unlocking the wisdom of your dreams to guide you toward greater wholeness and spiritual fulfillment.

This book is available in my store as an E-Book for only $3. Just click here. If you wish to purchase a print version, you can do so at this link: Click here. The print version is currently only available via Amazon.

Below is a short video about the book today. I’m a bit sweaty after mowing the lawn.

Dream Class

On a related note, several of you emailed asking questions about the course I’ll teach in January at United Lutheran Seminary in Gettysburg on Dreams of the Bible. My plan is to offer something of a Zoom series for “Notebook” readers this winter. That way, more people can participate, and you don’t need to be a Doctor of Ministry student at ULS. More info on that will be available later in the fall.

I’ll be on vacation for the month of August. In September, I’ll begin the series “Bicycling with Saints and Sinners” as I bicycle through the European lands of Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, and others.

Until Next Time,

[1] Marion Woodman, in The Art of Dreaming by J Mellick

What's Next for you in Retirement?

"What's Next?" is the central theme of the questions people ask me these days. My official retirement date is July 31, and I sense much concern/curiosity around August 1. As many readers of Notebooks know, I will conclude 12 years as Bishop of the New England Synod very soon. For some reason, people who know me well have difficulty imagining me as retired. They have Florida, Golf, and Cable News in mind. Well, that's not for me. Instead, I've got an active next chapter in mind, which I highlight below. But first, I will give you some thoughts on the essence of retirement.

Someone referenced retirement around 13 B.C.E. when Emperor Augustus established a pension for soldiers who had served well. The more modern version came from German Chancellor Otto von Bismark in 1889, when he decided to pay citizens disabled from work by age or an inability to continue working. President Roosevelt signed the Social Security Act into law in the United States in 1935, establishing 65 as the retirement age. That made sense because the average life expectancy was around 58.

The Retirement Industrial Complex took hold of the Sunshine, Putting Green, TV theme and pounded it into our bodies. But that oversimplified something that has been changing through the years. Some want to kick back, but they are now the minority. In its place are people, myself included, who view this next chapter as a time to invest in creativity, worthwhile causes, supporting the next generation, and making a difference. Now that people live healthier and longer lives, this chapter might best be considered a third act. We grew up, learned, and established careers and family in acts one and two. Now, the third act is another chapter worth engaging in with intentionality.

But this chapter in life is more than just a series of hobbies and activities; something new is happening inside our souls. I wrote about this extensively in my book Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life. The work we are summoned to do now centers on a new calling to service, meaning, and wholeness. Yes, that work needs external expression, but it grows out of our inner soul work. As Carl Jung writes:

Wholly unprepared, we embark upon the second half of life. Or are there perhaps colleges for forty-year-olds which prepare them for their coming life and its demands as the ordinary colleges introduce our young people to a knowledge of the world? No, thoroughly unprepared, we take the step into the afternoon of life; worse still, we take this step with the false assumption that our truths and ideals will serve us as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the program of life’s morning; for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true will at evening have become a lie. (Jung, Stages of Life Essay)

The call in this third act is to something deeper.

Nicola Slee remarks, “The process of spiritual awakening involves a shift from external achievement to internal growth, from being oriented towards the needs of others to becoming more fully oneself.” (The Faith Lives of Women and Girls: Qualitative Research Perspectives, 11)

While the language in these phrases, such as "becoming fully oneself," might make some cringe with a suggestion of a therapeutic deism, in my experience, one needs a both-and approach. Yes, there is a natural turn toward an inner life in the second half of life, but that requires an external expression, often in service to others, the planet, democracy, or the community. We need both.

The spirituality of a third act takes both hands, grasping the task into which we are called. We cultivate this chapter of ongoing maturity and wisdom by claiming a conversational engagement with the inner and the outer world. Out of that dialogue, much can happen.

What’s Next for Me?

As I begin this third act, I envision a tapas plate approach to retirement. That metaphor of a Spanish-style meal with small plates appeals to my yearning for variety. Here are a few:

Tapas Plate of Writing

I plan to continue writing Notebooks and plans for a new book. If everything falls into place this fall, I'll be writing to you from the road. In September, I'll begin a two-month bicycle tour of Europe and an accompanying series, "Bicycling with the Saints." Yes, it's a spin on the similar title work by Belden Lane, which focused on his backpacking ventures. As I ride along the terrain of such luminaries as Hildegaard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, and the Plum Village Community of the late Zen Buddhist Thich Naht Hahn, I'll be typing away with reflections. (Hopefully not at the same time, for riding and typing are not good multitasking) This series could end up in another book…eventually.

Tapas Plate of Photography

As I previously described, I’m very much enjoying a return to photography. As a hobby, I enjoyed working as a professional photographer in the past. Now, I'll have the chance to practice photography "for the love of the game" rather than paying attention to accounting. One specific area of service I plan to offer is photography for non-profit organizations. Just like my spiritual direction & coaching practice, this will be on a sliding scale basis. While businesses often hire people to produce images for their websites and advertising, non-profits don't have the resources for this…now they will. I'm also just looking forward to photography for fun, as I've started the 350 photo-a-day Instagram feed, which features a photograph every day from my on-the-street image-making. More info on all this at www.jameshazelwoodphoto.com

Tapas Plate of Teaching

In addition to the opportunity to teach at Yale Divinity School and United Lutheran Seminary, I plan to create some online and in-person learning options. I’ll announce those later in 2025. But I’m most looking forward to teaching “Dreams in the Bible, Religion and Modern Life" in January at U.L.S. This is a chance for me to gather much of my research, studies at the Haden Institute, the Jung Platform for Coaching, the Jung Institute in Boston, and coursework at Salve Regina University.

Those are the three main plates I plan on exploring; each of them I’ll be tackling in small doses, leaving lots of time for hikes in the woods, time with grandchildren, bicycling & swimming, cooking and eating great food, time with my wife, conversations with friends, etc. People may wonder, but how will you do all this and call it retirement?

Years ago, a distinguished grey-haired man named Dick Hutchins joined the congregation I served in Rhode Island. I learned this former scientist from the U.S. Department of Agriculture had recently moved to his family homestead in Quonachataug, Rhode Island. I said, "Oh, so you've retired." He looked at me intently, yet with his characteristic smile, responded, "No, not retired, I'm redirected." That conversation occurred 25 years ago, and today, I'm recalling it and claiming my next chapter. I'm not retired. I'm redirected to a new chapter, a third act.

I’m ready. Let’s go! 

Until Next Time,

James Hazelwood is the author of three books on the intersection of everyday life and the spiritual. You can subscribe to these essays at www.jameshazelwood.substack.com

The Sacredness of Hospitality

As you may know, I traveled to Jerusalem and the West Bank of Israel and Palestine last week. The one-week trip was part of a solidarity trip to colleagues, friends, and partners in the Palestinian Christian community of the ELCJHL. I brought with me greetings as well as an offering (sent electronically). Many of you contributed by purchasing books this past spring, and the proceeds were included in the offering. Most of what I brought with me, along with Pastor Tim Kely, was a strong message of solidarity during these times of hardship and war. I recorded a video reflecting our relationship with the Lutheran Church in Jordan and the Holy Land. You can view it here.

However, one thing I left out of that video reflects the impact on me of the Hospitality Tim and I received. How do you describe being on the receiving end of such immense graciousness, goodwill, laughter, hard, challenging conversations, and excellent food?

Tim Keyl and I, with host Bishop Azar and Nahla

What does Hospitality mean?

Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything. Be quick to give a meal to the hungry, a bed to the homeless—cheerfully. Be generous with the different things God gave you, passing them around so all get in on it: if words, let it be God’s words; if help, let it be God’s hearty help. (1 Peter 4:9 The Message).

I used to believe that Hospitality meant serving a meal, extending a handshake or hug, speaking kind words, and even cleaning the house in anticipation of a visitor. But my recent time with Palestinians in homes, offices, churches, and classrooms revealed something far more significant. Genuine hospitality is an exchange of stories, time, and, dare I say, souls.

As Dr. Stacy Jill Zackin describes, the heart of hospitality calls for a welcoming presence at the thresholds of life—the times, spaces, and pathways in which the unknown is encountered and transformation occurs. As an archetype, Hospitality facilitates the movement betwixt, between, and beyond the borders that separate the conscious from the unconscious, the Self from the other, the profane from the sacred, and the material from the imagined, as well as many other seemingly opposing forces. By honoring Hospitality and the integrity of the guest-host relationship, we can renew an individual and the collective with a spirit of welcoming and trust. We reawaken a sacred connection with one another and with the holy.

Common definitions of Hospitality 

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines Hospitality as:

1. Hospitality: hospitable treatment, reception, or disposition

   1. given to generous and cordial reception of guests 

   2. promising or suggesting a generous and friendly welcome 

   3. offering a pleasant or sustaining environment 2 readily receptive: OPEN, hospitable to new ideas 

The third definition's concept of openness, hospitable, adds a valuable layer to our understanding. To be open means to be porous and readily accessible to internal and external change. It’s not just being nice; it’s being altered.

Being open means being without barriers and being readily accessible.

This is the opposite of keeping up with the neighbors, ensuring your home is perfect, or having the right “stuff” on the kitchen counter. 

Hospitality in Religious Traditions

Hospitality is an ancient tradition dating back thousands of years and is practiced throughout all cultures and religions. The Indian Sanskrit word closest to Hospitality is atithisatkara, centering around doing a good deed for a guest. Still, more significantly, it suggests walking with the guests wherever they may be. In the Hindu practice of worship in central India, Lawrence Babb suggests, “the entire sequence has one overall purpose: to make the god or goddess feel like a welcome guest.” In other words, worshipping the god or goddess is a form of Hospitality, and Hospitality is a form of worship.

The Bible is full of hospitality stories. Ultimately, the Bible as a whole reflects a hospitality story about God’s incredible welcome of broken people. This ancient tradition expanded with Christ as he modeled loving and welcoming all. 

An early story in the Hebrew Bible (aka Old Testament) in  Genesis 18 seems fitting to reiterate.

The Lord appeared again to Abraham near the oak grove belonging to Mamre. One day, Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent during the hottest part of the day. He looked up and noticed three men standing nearby. When he saw them, he ran to meet them and welcomed them, bowing low to the ground.

“My lord,” he said, “if it pleases you, stop here for a while. Rest in the shade of this tree while water is brought to wash your feet. And since you’ve honored your servant with this visit, let me prepare some food to refresh you before you continue on your journey.”

“All right,” they said. “Do as you have said.”

So Abraham ran back to the tent and said to Sarah, “Hurry! Get three large measures of your best flour, knead it into dough, and bake some bread.” Then Abraham ran out to the herd and chose a tender calf and gave it to his servant, who quickly prepared it. When the food was ready, Abraham took some yogurt and milk and the roasted meat, and he served it to the men. As they ate, Abraham waited on them in the shade of the trees.

Here, we find Abraham. It’s a hot day. The land is arid. The morning work is done. Now, the heat is at its blistering peak in the middle of the day. Dust is everywhere; the roads are made of dirt and are continually being used. Abraham is resting. The women are possibly resting as well. We can only imagine the dust and heat combined would make anyone want to sleep at that time of the day. 

Then travelers appear. It would not have been unusual for Arab travelers to come and seek shelter as Marriott’s had yet to be built. Hospitality came from people who were camped. Abraham asked the travelers to stay. “Please, if I have found favor in your sight…” Hospitality did not just wait till someone asked for a cup of water. Hospitality was seeking how to meet needs before the need was apparent. Serving, caring for, and sheltering the stranger was an honor.

A Palestinian Rabbi from Galilee later offered these words about Hospitality.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

Hospitality is a sacred act to treat strangers and friends, welcoming one another into our homes, communal spaces, and lives. There is a spirit of openness to being changed in the context of one's oikos – a Greek word often translated as household, suggesting the totality of all household activity. Though I’m sure you’re thinking of that creamy Greek Yogurt. Aristotle liked the word, too, and developed a much-debated concept of household management. Some 300 years later, it found a home in some New Testament writings. In that context, this word took on a broader role, encompassing neighbors, coworkers, friends, and anyone with whom you were connected. 

While researching this piece, I found a purpose statement from a congregation that I’ve altered to try and capture a vision of what Oikos Hospitality might look like for modern people:

Oikos are people dwelling intentionally in relationships for a shared purpose. Oikos refers to the deep conviction that when we welcome someone into our house, we treat them like they belong—because they do belong. In a world where isolation, brokenness, and loneliness are all too common, we welcome them because we need each other. We welcome it because we are changed and altered to be more graceful, hopeful people in this act of mutual hospitality.

That happened to me over six days and nights in the West Bank and Jerusalem. In shared meals, sometimes hard conversations, telling and retelling stories, and confessing fears and hopes, I experienced a transformation. I can’t explain it entirely, but my soul has been changed.

A sacred connection reawakened within me and with a people, a land, and the divine creator who hosts this big universal Oikos where we live, move, and have our very being.

Until next time,

This essay was originally published on my Substack newsletter. You may subscribe for free here

Photography as Contemplative Practice

For many years, I worked as a professional photographer. It was my first career, having constructed a home darkroom in my parents' house complete with chemicals and an enlarger for developing and printing black and white photographs. This is the time long before digital cameras when we used film. Later, I pursued photography and a degree in communication arts, with plans to attend the Rochester Institute of Technology for a career in photojournalism. But that path got interrupted, and studies in theology followed by a nearly 40-year career in ministry that concludes next month.

Photography has always been a part of my life, even as a secondary pursuit. I'm pleased to be rekindling my passion for image-making. I recently launched a new website where I'll showcase my work: www.jameshazelwoodphoto.com. Take a look if you're interested.

Photography can be a form of spiritual practice as well as mere memory making. What follows are a few observations on photography as an act of contemplative prayer.

“Seeing needs cultivation. Observing our surroundings, observing others, observing the dynamics of human society, and witnessing the forces of the natural world are the keys to knowing about the universe.” 

David Ulrich in Zen Camera

In an age where everyone is constantly snapping photos with their smartphones, a growing movement is encouraging a mindful approach to photography. Contemplative photography aims to train the photographer's eye to find the beauty and meaning in the every day, "ordinary" scenes.

Andy Karr and Michael Wood's book The Practice of Contemplative Photography explains that contemplative photography is about "fully connecting with the visual richness of our ordinary, daily experience." It's not just about the technical process of taking a photo but about learning to truly see the world around you.

We can trace contemplative photography's origins back to concepts in Zen Buddhism. In the 1970s, the book The Zen of Seeing by Frederick Franck explored the difficulties many people have with drawing stem from trying to depict an "idea" of an object rather than directly observing and rendering what is in front of them. Contemplative photography applies a similar principle, using the camera as the medium rather than a pencil or paintbrush.

"Contemplative photography seems to be akin to this, only with the camera as the output rather than your hand and the pencil and paintbrush," explains photographer Lily Segal. "It's about immediacy rather than technical know-how."

The Miksang method is one specific approach to contemplative photography that has gained popularity. Miksang, which means "good eye" in Tibetan, was developed based on the teachings of Buddhist teacher Chögyam Trungpa. Miksang photos are simple, direct images of everyday scenes and objects rather than elaborate, staged compositions.

If you look at Miksang photos — or any 'contemplative photography' photos, they tend to be simple, clear, and direct. They're not (necessarily) photos of lotuses, crosses, or other spiritual or religious subjects. They're simple, everyday, immediate."

As I look to return to my practice of photography for both fun and enrichment, I’m considering these principles.

1. We are focusing on the ordinary. We often dismiss ordinary things as "just" a coffee cup or "only" a pair of eyeglasses. Contemplative photography encourages us to see the inherent beauty and wonder in the mundane objects and scenes surrounding us daily.

2. We are cultivating presence and mindfulness. Rather than rushing to capture the "perfect" photo, contemplative photography asks the photographer to slow down, quiet the mind, and be fully present in the moment. This allows the photographer to see and respond to what is before them.

3. Letting go of expectations. Many photographers get caught up in trying to capture a specific, pre-conceived image. Contemplative photography invites the photographer to approach each moment with an open, receptive attitude, without attachment to a particular outcome.

For many photographers, this mindful approach can be a welcome antidote to the constant pressure to capture the perfect, technically flawless image. As Segal reflects, "I've long disliked how the attitude of wanting to 'get' a good image or stopping to fiddle with camera settings takes me out of forgetting myself and immersing myself in my surroundings."

Contemplative photography is not about abandoning technical skills, however. Without understanding the technical aspects, you can't get star photos or those lovely blurred waterfall photos. The primary focus is on cultivating the photographer's inner vision and presence rather than just technical mastery.

Many photographers who adopt a contemplative approach find that it also improves their overall photographic skills. The eye of the photographer is, of course, the most important thing. I've seen excellent photos taken with camera phones that put some of my photos to shame.

Ultimately, contemplative photography appeals to photographers because it helps them rediscover a sense of wonder and presence in their everyday lives. Segal reflects, "I think part of the attraction, to me, is that I've always had a love/hate relationship with some aspects of photography. I love getting a great image, but the approach described in this book and others like it... is about immediacy rather than technical know-how."

In an age of constant digital distraction, the lessons of contemplative photography offer a powerful antidote - a way to slow down, pay attention, and find the extraordinary beauty in the most ordinary of moments.

Share

This issue marks a significant transition. As many of you know, my term as the New England Synod ELCA Lutheran Bishop is coming to a close at the end of next month. I hold deep gratitude for your support and readership over the years. This substack newsletter will continue, but I also want to give you the freedom to step away and unsubscribe. There are now nearly 3,000 readers of “The Notebooks of James Hazelwood”, about a third of you connected to me through the New England Synod. As I move on from my role as bishop, I want to assure you that it's also okay to move on. You can unsubscribe, and I won't be offended. I won't even know if you do, as I rarely check the statistics page.

Notebooks will evolve over the coming year. The focus will continue to explore a symbolic approach to religious themes, but you'll also see a section tentatively called "Random Notes." This section will include personal updates, links to relevant content, increased opportunities for interaction, and invitations to learning events/retreats I'll be leading. In addition, I've moved my podcast here, so there will be occasional video and audio content. The evolution will be gradual.

For now, as we enter the summer season here in the northern hemisphere, that means more time outside and less time behind the laptop. Notebooks will continue but in a reduced capacity. In September, I look forward to giving you a new series titled "Bicycling with the Saints." More on that soon.

Flannery O'Connor and the Human Shadow

The actor Ethan Hawke has made a movie titled "Wildcat," about the iconic Southern writer Flannery O’Connor. Hawke's been making the rounds on various media outlets lately. While the film has a limited release, it should be available soon. I’m looking forward to it. As O’Connor once remarked, her life is not very interesting in and of itself, but Hawke chose to make a movie about this writer’s imagination. The cinematography alone looks intriguing. You can get a glimpse of the film by watching the trailer here.

Screen Grab from the new film

Flannery O'Connor was born in Savannah, Georgia, in 1925. She spent most of her life in Milledgeville, Georgia, where she crafted her distinctive literary voice. O'Connor is known for her dark, grotesque, and often violent short stories that explore themes of faith, morality, and redemption. Her unique style and unflinching portrayal of the human condition have solidified her place as a pivotal author in American literature. Tragically, O'Connor's life was cut short at the age of 39 when she died from lupus in 1964, leaving behind a powerful legacy that continues to captivate and challenge readers to this day. You can find her work in several places, including The Complete Stories. But, if you are an audiobook listener, I highly recommend the collection Everything that Rises Must Converge. The readings are dramatic and quite powerful.

As I've been reading O'Connor's short stories lately, I can't help but notice a connection to Carl Jung's theory of the Shadow in human psychology. The Shadow refers to the unconscious, repressed, or denied aspects of the self, often associated with negative or socially unacceptable traits. According to Jung, integrating the Shadow is a crucial step in the individuation process, which is the journey towards becoming a whole and self-aware individual.

Imagine my surprise when I learned Flannery O'Connor read Jung in the late 1950s. She comments on Jung's theories in her 1959 book, The Habit of Being. She writes that Jung's psychology could only be "in helping the person face his own psychic realities." While O'Connor is not overly thrilled with Jung's emphasis on a personal religion rather than her preference for traditional Catholic dogma, she still acknowledges his studies, especially in the realm of the religious significance of dreams.  

Elsewhere in her copy of Jung's Modern Man in Search of a Soul, she marked the following passage on the Shadow:

“For what is inferior or even worthless belongs to me as my Shadow and gives me substance and mass. How can I be substantial if I fail to cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole, and inasmuch as I become conscious of my Shadow, I also remember that I am a human being like any other." (qt in Kinney p 86)

By underlining this passage, O’Connor focuses on the Shadow and its pervasiveness in humanity, and we see that in her writings, which are deeply infused with the presence of the Shadow, as seen through her grotesque and flawed characters who embody the darker aspects of human nature. In her short story "A Good Man Is Hard to Find," the grandmother is a selfish and manipulative character who constantly imposes her will on others. O'Connor writes, "She would of been a good woman if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."[1] In the story, this line is spoken by the Misfit, a notorious criminal who encounters the grandmother and her family during their road trip. The quote reflects the Misfit's perspective on the grandmother's superficial and self-serving nature, suggesting that only the constant threat of violence could keep her in check.

In Flannery O'Connor's writing, characters' encounters with their Shadows often serve as catalysts for spiritual revelation and epiphany. In her short story "Revelation," the protagonist, Mrs. Turpin, is a self-righteous woman who looks down on others based on their social class and race. However, when confronted by a young girl who calls her a "wart hog from hell," Mrs. Turpin is forced to confront her Shadow, leading to a profound realization about her pride and the nature of divine grace. O'Connor writes, "Until the sun slipped finally behind the tree line, Mrs. Turpin remained there with her gaze bent to them as if she were absorbing some abysmal life-giving knowledge" (O'Connor, "Revelation" 508). This encounter with her Shadow leads Mrs. Turpin to a deeper understanding of herself and her relationship with God.  

But Flannery O'Connor does not give you grace wrapped up in a cute little bow that is made easy to see. You've got to look hard and deep for grace in her stories, and even when you find it, you're likely to encounter a mix of motivations.

For O'Connor, the Shadow serves as a means to grace and redemption. She believed in the transformative power of suffering and self-confrontation, viewing the Shadow as a necessary step in the journey towards spiritual growth. In her own words, "I have found, in short, from reading my own writing, that my subject in fiction is the action of grace in territory largely held by the devil" (O'Connor, "On Her Own Work" 118). By forcing her characters to face their Shadows, O'Connor leads them to better understand their failings and the need for divine grace. While often painful and challenging, this process is essential for spiritual revelation and transformation. As she states in her essay "The Fiction Writer & His Country," "I see from the standpoint of Christian orthodoxy. This means that for me the meaning of life is centered in our Redemption by Christ and that what I see in the world I see in its relation to that" (O'Connor, Mystery and Manners 32).

Through the presence of the Shadow in her writing, O'Connor explores the complex relationship between sin, suffering, and redemption, ultimately affirming the power of grace to transform even the darkest aspects of the human soul. She may not have been enamored with all of Carl Jung's ideas, but they resonate. They share similar themes on the complexities of human nature. Each shares a portrayal of the darker aspects of the self and how bringing it to consciousness is a part of the path to human wholeness and redemption. Jung's significance is in a psychological perspective on religion and life. O’Connor’s enduring significance lies not only in her groundbreaking contributions to American literature but also in the timeless nature of her insights, which continue to shed light on the shadows that reside within us all.

Until next Time,

 This essay appears in the May 10 edition of my Substack Newsletter. Click here to subscribe for free and not miss an issue.

James Hazelwood is the bishop of the New England Synod—ELCA Lutheran. He is also a Spiritual Director and Coach in Depth Psychology and the Christian Mystical Tradition. He is the author of several books, including Ordinary Mysteries: Faith, Doubt, and Meaning, which is available now.

Works Cited:

Kinney, Arthur F. Ed. Flannery O’Connor’s Library: Resources of Being. Athens: U of Georgia Press, 1985.

O'Connor, Flannery. "Revelation." The Complete Stories. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1971.

---. "On Her Own Work." Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1969,  

---. "The Fiction Writer & His Country." Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1969.

---. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find." A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1955.

[1] O'Connor, Flannery. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find." A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories — Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1955, p. 133.

Approaching God through Metaphor

“If we are honest the only way we can approach God is through metaphor, through symbol.” Says the lead singer of the Irish Band U2. I came across that quote while rewatching his conversation with author Eugene Peterson. See it here.

The Psalms are a unique piece of ancient sacred text found in the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament. Essentially, lyrics from the Hebrew people’s worship liturgies, prayers, and poems are from various tribes, villages, priests, and people. They would have formed the prayer life of people for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Yeshua quotes them frequently as he wanders the hills around Galilee and in the streets of Jerusalem. At the end of his life, he taps into the Psalms of pain and suffering, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22)

Yahweh (pronounced yah -way, what the Hebrew Bible calls God) inhabits the Psalms because those lyrics express an encounter with the numinous, mystery, and holiness in a vibrant manner. The ineffable is always unknowable directly. All we can ever know is the image that comes to us from it. Bono means this when he says the only way we can approach God is through metaphor, through symbol. Even the word God is a symbol. Three letters are put together, spelled out in the English language, and a symbol.

In his book The Sacred Psyche, Edward Edinger describes the power of the Psalms. “I have known several quite irreligious people who were astonished to discover that certain Psalms were the only texts that spoke to their condition during a period of grave upheaval.” People find comfort, yes, but even more so, they find companionship in the Psalms. They have this sense that someone, perhaps a human being or a supreme being, has been in the same place before them. We cannot underestimate the value of that companionship.

But the language of the Psalms can read a bit rough, awkward, and out of step with our time and language. This is why Eugene Peterson’s translations of the Psalms are a book I go to a lot, especially when my passions are firing on many cylinders. Peterson gave these ancient lyrics a new rhythm, language, and relevance - at least for me and the 17 million others who have bought The Message.

An Example

Psalm 13 (A Classic Translation)

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I bear pain in my soul
    and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

Psalm 13  (The Message)

1-2 Long enough, God—
    you’ve ignored me long enough.
I’ve looked at the back of your head
    long enough. Long enough
I’ve carried this ton of trouble,
    lived with a stomach full of pain.
Long enough my arrogant enemies
    have looked down their noses at me.

Both work, but in The Message, I can enter into the Psalm, read or speak the words, and own them. Yes, I know the arguments from scholars and academics that critiqued this work. Some have merit, but I’m interested in finding ways to help people discover or re-discover ways to make for a more intimate relationship with the divine. The Message helps make that happen.

You can discover the Psalms via the Message online at this link and compare translations. I’m old school in this regard, so I own a couple of paperback copies of The Book of Psalms: The Message Version. I like to give them out.

Then there is U2’s version of Psalm 40, titled simply 40.

I waited patiently for the Lord.
He inclined and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit
Out of the miry clay.

I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song.
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song?

You set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm.
Many will see, many will see and hear.

I will sing, sing a new song.
I will sing, sing a new song
How long to sing this song? 
How long to sing this song? 

The Band U2 closed out their recent concert series at the Sphere in Las Vegas this past March with this song. You can see and hear it here.

How do you express the yearning, the desire, the connection with that which can ultimately not be named or claimed? You can’t, but through art, literature, song, and many other ways, we get close through the use and gift of metaphor and symbol.

“At the core of Carl Jung’s perception is intimated the expression ‘the symbolic life.’ There is a very deep, autonomous process at work in each of us which reaches the surface in metaphor or in symbol.”  Dr. James Hollis

Until next Time,

James Hazelwood is the bishop of the New England Synod—ELCA Lutheran. He is also a Spiritual Director and Coach in Depth Psychology and the Christian Mystical Tradition. He is the author of several books, including Ordinary Mysteries: Faith, Doubt, and Meaning, which is available now.

Ordinary Mysteries Release Day

Ordinary Mysteries was released early this morning. You can now find it wherever books are sold. This is the Trade Paperback edition. We had a successful fundraiser for the ELCJHL and sold more than 100 books, raising approximately $1500 for Hospitals, Schools, and People. Thank you. You can order it here if you really hanker for that hardback edition. There are four copies left.

The paperback edition is also available at a discount exclusively at my bookstore. Not only is it likely to be less expensive there than elsewhere, but you'll also be supporting me directly and the non-profits I donate and support. The e-book version is only $7. That eBook will load onto your Kindle, Nook, and iPad, you name it. The paperback is $20 plus shipping, but I can add a few pluses to the first 25 orders. I’ll sign them and include a bookmark and several sample cards from the Table Talk card deck, which will be available in May. As will the audiobook version. (I came down with a head cold yesterday, so I thought it best if I did not record with a congested sinus, though it could be pretty entertaining when you set the playback to plus 4x) 

Finally, there is a comprehensive study guide available. It’s free on my website. Just click here. The guide is a valuable resource for individuals who wish to delve deeper into the readings and the questions. It's also perfect for small groups, serving as a stimulating discussion guide. By the way, if you do have a small group, I’m more than happy to join you for a discussion session, what I like to call an “author talk.” In the old days, that was a car or a plane ride, but nowadays, it’s a Zoom call. Let me know if you are interested.

I’m quite pleased with this book. I think it’s my best one yet, and I love the artwork done by my brother. By the way, you should look at his other work at arthazelwood.com

Enjoy the Reading.

More to Come

On Mentors, Guides and Wisdom

I hope you’ll indulge me in this essay. It’s more personal than most.

This past weekend, I flew to San Francisco to attend the funeral of one of the most influential people in my life. Donald Kershaw Green. He passed away just a few weeks shy of his 89th birthday. Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, in the very same neighborhood, I would later serve as a Pastor for nearly six years. He attended Union Theological Seminary in NYC when Reinhold Niebuhr, Paul Tillich, and James Muilenburg taught there. Don served congregations in New Jersey and throughout the Bay Area in California. That’s where I met him.

Rev. Donald K. Green

While attending the Graduate Theological Union and PLTS in Berkeley, California, I worked with Don Green. He was my supervisor for my field education and youth ministry work as a seminary student from 1983 to 1985. I learned much from Don. He was creative in his ministry, gifted in music, and a thoughtful preacher with a pugnacious personality. His obituary says he never lost his New York accent, but that’s not entirely accurate. What he never lost was his Brooklyn directness. You never had a dull conversation with Don. He wouldn’t settle for that. He wanted depth and intensity of engagement.

As I mentioned in the preface of my new book, Don introduced me to the biblical story of Jacob wrestling with an angel. (Genesis 32:22-32) I dedicated the book to him.

In 1983, Don took a chance on a young seminary student with big ideas and questions. He hired me as the Youth Director at a congregation filled with high school kids trying to navigate the angst of their teenage years. I had no idea what I was doing, but Don let me find my way. One afternoon, he told me of his time at an interfaith event the previous day. A rabbi presented his interpretation of Jacob wrestling with an angel from the book of Genesis. According to Don, the rabbi made the case that this story was at the heart of the human quest for meaning. We are all wrestling with God.

“This is your story, Jim,” Don told me with his characteristic enthusiasm. And he was right, and he is still right. Don gave me a way to think about faith in a way that embraced it but not too tightly.

We all need mentors to navigate life. Our parents provide a foundational role of influence, perhaps more significant than we realize. But young men and young women need additional guides. People who have already experienced how wonderful and terrible life can be. I’ve been blessed by many through the years:

• A little league baseball coach who was more interested in developing character than winning games.

• A fifth-grade teacher who saw something in me I didn’t know was there.

• A college English professor unwilling to accept mediocre papers for class.

• A camp director who gave me opportunities to develop leadership skills.

Don Green was the mentor who pushed for depth. I had more honest philosophical and theological conversations with him than anyone else. As a 24-year-old filled with a jumble of disconnected ideas, discoveries, and opinions, I needed someone to debate, engage, and challenge. He put up with a lot of crazy ideas and projects. I’m sure those corporate middle managers in the All Saint’s Church congregation complained regularly. Don both protected me from their criticisms while simultaneously challenging me. Mostly, he wanted me to think, reflect, and ponder the depth of the biblical narratives. The influence of his own mentor, James Muilenburg, poured through him. (Muilenburg’s students included Walter Brueggeman and Phyllis Trible)

At the funeral on Saturday, Don’s daughter gave me a small collection of handwritten letters. She found them among his personal writings. I had forgotten how we had corresponded in my early years in ministry. He had saved these letters. Reading them now makes me realize his significance in my life even more.

One of them continued a long-standing conversation he and I had about the nature of Jesus Christ. In the letter, undated but likely around 1994/5, I write, “I find myself focusing more on Christ these days. I recall our early conversations and your concern (well-founded) that my theology lacked a Christology. Well, in time, the student comes around to the master.” I go on to describe some personal experiences and realizations. Reflecting on this letter today makes me realize my long-standing struggle to grasp, understand, and embrace the wandering rabbi from Galilee. (See this essay for a more recent update) But of equal value is how Don allowed, encouraged, and invited me to be in a wrestling match on this subject. Just like Jacob! Even if I’d reached some consumating conclusion, I don’t think he would have tolerated it. For him, as for me, the joy of the struggle, the yearning, the wondering … makes all the difference.

I pulled this card from the deck of Ordinary Mysteries Table Talk, the collection of conversation/reflection cards accompanying the book.* It seemed fitting for today. And as I wrote above, there are several people I could name. Today, the answer is my friend, pastor, supervisor, and mentor, Don Green.

What about you? Who has mentored you? Who has been a guide for you in life, a source of wisdom and influence? Might I suggest you pull out some paper and write them a letter? Let’s do this old-school style with paper and pen. Even if they are no longer here, or you’ve lost touch, there’s real value in claiming the gifts they’ve given you, and offering gratitude.

Until Next Time,

James Hazelwood is the bishop of the New England Synod—ELCA Lutheran. He is also a Spiritual Director and Coach in Depth Psychology and the Christian Mystical Tradition. He is the author of several books, including Ordinary Mysteries: Faith, Doubt, and Meaning, which will be released on April 30.

*These cards will be available shortly.