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.

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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.

Ordinary Mysteries Limited Edition

My new book, Ordinary Mysteries: Faith, Doubt, and Meaning, will be released on April 30. But I’m doing a special limited edition Hardbound release now to all my friends on Substack, this website and in the New England Synod.

 This book collects the best of my writing over the last four years. Every essay has been edited and portions rewritten for clarity, accuracy, and, sometimes, just for fun.

 The collection includes 26 different columns, including these titles:

Why We Need Symbolic Intelligence
The Soul and Artificial Intelligence
How Do You Explain the Virgin Birth?
The Beatitudes Inside and Out
Why Do Bad Things Happen?
Sabbath: Give It a Rest
The Meaning of Money
Compassion As Spiritual Practice

“Throughout this book of essays, James Hazelwood extends a continual and continuous invitation that dares us to see differently. Reading Ordinary Mysteries felt like meeting a friend for an honest conversation. I was left with a sharpened awareness of The Holy within and around me.”
Sheila Longo Petruccelli
Director of Creative Embodiment
The Haden Institute

 Read a couple sample chapters here.

“ORDINARY MYSTERIES is extraordinary in how much in-depth theology, psychology, and spirituality are brought together in one book. Here is Carl Jung paired with Howard Thurmond. Explorations into Trinity, Beatitudes, Ash Wednesday. We are invited to a “holy curiosity” and “a gritty mysticism grounded in compassion.”

Bishop Doug Fisher
Episcopal Diocese of Western Massachusetts

 The hardbound edition includes artwork for each section break designed by my brother, Art Hazelwood. He also designed the cover, which portrays everyday attire, the hoodie, with elements from several essays within the book. You can see more of his work at www.arthazelwood.com  

 We’ve had 100 copies printed and they are available for $35 each, plus shipping. As I mentioned, each book will be autographed and comes with a custom bookmark as well as a small envelope containing several cards from an accompanying Table Talk Conversation Cards. The Table Talk cards are in production and printing, so they aren’t ready to launch yet. But you’ll get a sneak preview of some advanced samples.

This limited edition 100 run is also a fundraiser. The proceeds from this sale will all go to the schools, hospitals, and people of the Palestinian community of the ELCJHL. This small community of congregations in the Holy Land is suffering greatly under the current conditions brought on by the war in Gaza. While they live and work miles and miles away in the West Bank, the emotional, economic, and spiritual toll on the people is significant. Your purchase will be a message of concrete support.

 How to order the book.

 You can order directly from my website store at www.jameshazelwood.net. Click here to go directly to the bookstore.

Buy Now

You can also order from the New England Synod. If you’d prefer to mail a check, contact Martha at this email link: click here. She will take care of your order.

The books and other items will ship to you the week of April 15 via US Priority Mail.

If you live outside the continental US, send me an email and we’ll get the shipping details worked out. jim@jameshazelwood.net

Holy Week: What Lies Ahead

It’s arrived early this year. On Sunday in the Western church, we remember Jesus of Nazareth's entrance into Jerusalem with Palm Sunday. It is the beginning of a week involving triumphant expectations, rituals of washing and caring, betrayal, injustice, brutal capital punishment and death. We call it holy. Why? Most likely because life is filled with beautiful and terrible things. Holy Week fills out all the drama of the human condition.

Several years ago, I presided at the funeral of an older man. He had lived a long life, and the family gathered for the memorial service. They asked if the man’s teenage granddaughter could read a lesson during worship. She approached the podium with a kind of grace unusual for early teens. She opened a Bible and, before reading, said, “I chose this passage because it best shows the qualities of my grandfather.” She then began to read First Corinthians 13.

 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

I must have heard those verses read hundreds of times at weddings. But, now, hearing this child read this passage as a description of her grandfather. I was slain, as was the congregation. Nothing more needed to be said. 

The columnist David Brooks describes two different kinds of virtues for living. In the first half of life, we work on our résumé virtues. These qualities help us earn a living, establish a family, and plan a career. We desire to impress people with the capabilities of our competence, education, and acuity for success. However, different questions begin to arise in the second half of life. An increasing awareness of the limits of life primarily brings this on. We realize we will not live forever. Therefore, our focus shifts from résumé virtues to eulogy virtues. We hope people will recount these qualities and characteristics at our funeral. Were we kind, compassionate, and thoughtful? Were we a good listener, a generous person, an encourager? Or were we a complainer, a know-it-all, a braggart? The second half of life brings an opportunity to ask questions of ultimate significance.[2]

Death is a tremendous gift to us. It forces us to face our limits and thereby helps us choose how we wish to spend our time and energy.

In many ways, Holy Week is a week of death. The historic liturgies of the Christian church turn our attention to a brutal death using an ancient form of capital punishment, namely crucifixion. We should not trivialize this form of execution. The Romans invented it to inflict maximum suffering on the victims and used it to convince other would-be rebels to think twice. This event culminates in the Good Friday liturgy.

Holy Week marinates in death. The week’s origin centered on the Passover celebration, which marked events in ancient Israel as enslaved people prepared to march out of bondage in Egypt. The meal before their departure became the center of Christian worship in early precursors to Holy Week, which took shape in the 4th century CE. But Jesus linking the Passover meal with his Last Supper brings yet another death marker into the week.

All this talk of death may get you a little down. Largely, that’s because Americans are death-phobic and grief-illiterate, as the Canadian philosopher and former palliative-care counselor Stephen Jenkinson has noted. Years ago, on departing the house to attend a Good Friday liturgy, my wife asked if anyone else wanted to join us. We had family in town for the weekend. One gentleman declined by saying, “Nah, it’s too depressing. I’ll wait for Easter. That’s more of an upper.” His choice of words (an upper) reflects an almost pharmaceutical metaphor. It’s as if religion and life are chemically inducing activities. Is Good Friday a downer as in a depressant, and is Easter Sunday a stimulant?

I believe the crusty Canadian is onto something as he describes our death-phobic and grief-illiterate culture. In 1976, the film Annie Hall caught my attention. It spoke to my young-adult angst of romances gone awry, confusion regarding vocation, and the ever-present quest for meaning. In the film, there is a scene in which the character Alvy Singer is trying to convince Annie to read some books on death. Somehow my adolescent existential self, became intrigued with those books. So, I went out and purchased Ernest Becker’s The Denial of Death and read it over a weekend. My college roommate telephoned the campus ministry center out of concern. I can see my life and work calling rooted in this pursuit of death and its accompanying co-pilot grief. Working in a hospital cancer ward and emergency room was among my most life-giving and exhausting experiences as a young chaplain. Among the lessons I’ve learned most about death and grief is that they must be expressed.

To speak of sorrow
works upon it
                moves it from its
crouched place barring
the way to and from the soul’s hall—
out in the light it
shows clear, whether
shrunken or known as
a giant wrath—
                discrete
at least, where before

its great shadow joined
the walls and roof and seemed
to uphold the hall like a beam.

Denise Levertov writes of our unexpressed sorrows, the congested stories of loss, that, when left unattended, block our access to the soul. I would go so far as to suggest that it is in death and grief that we most profoundly connect with God: not exclusively; but something in the human experience of loss unites us.

Who has not experienced loss, heartache, shattered dreams, grave disappointments, all the little deaths of life, not to mention the significant deaths of loved ones who have passed away? In the past few years, more than a million Americans died from COVID-19; globally, the number has soared to six million. Add to this all the recent deaths, losses, addictions, and traumas as the result of a broken world. I remain convinced that a significant part of our current engagement with aggressive and even violent behavior is deeply connected to unexpressed grief.

We need more than a splendidly profound funeral, though that always helps. What we need is a cultural recalibration, maybe even an intervention. This reorientation would center around sorrow, loss, and grief. Every person reading this book could step forward to encourage their local church, synagogue, temple, community center, school, or even place of employment to form a grief group. There are free guidebooks available.[5]

Regardless of one’s religious affiliation, Holy Week serves as more than a reminder of the presence of death in life. It suggests a particular way in which death is life. As the mystics throughout history, the theologians of ancient and present times, and depth psychologists have all noted, the idea of God embracing death is a most meaningful embrace of life. We do well to see in death the gift of life.

So death is not something to run from, hide from, or pretend does not exist. Instead, if we are engaged in healthy and kind ways, we can encounter death as a friend. Death is the ultimate definer of what makes us human.

“The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.”

Joanna Macy[6]

This essay appears in the upcoming book Ordinary Mysteries: Faith, Doubt, and Meaning, which will be released on April 30. Next week, I’ll announce a presale of a limited hardcover edition. Proceeds of all sales will support the hospitals, schools, and congregations of the ELCJHL.

James Hazelwood, writer, bishop, and spiritual director, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. He has a new book, Ordinary Mysteries: Reflections on Faith, Doubt & Meaning. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

The Simple Prescription for a Good Life: Be Generous

What’s the answer to life? I mean, come on, can’t we simplify this whole quest for meaning around one succinct, easy-to-do quick fix?

I’ve pondered this question for some time and concluded that the answer is yes. Yes, there is one answer to all of life’s burning questions. It’s been sitting right in front of us for our whole lives. It’s both profound and simple. It’s also actionable.

The answer to life is “Be Generous.”

Be generous with your time, money, love, and affirmations.

“Perhaps the simplest, most powerful moral question is this: Am I a net giver or a net taker?” writes Chris Anderson, CEO of the famous TED talks, in his new book Infectious Generosity: The Ultimate Idea Worth Spreading. Engaging in some self-reflection around his question, am I a net giver or a net taker, as Measured by the people we’ve hurt versus the people we’ve helped, the resources we’ve consumed versus those we’ve protected, the ugliness versus the beauty.

There is nothing that catches people’s attention more than generosity, as expressed in human actions. Don’t we all love a good listener? You know the person who will be generous with their attention, time, and energy, and give it all to us. Is not this the most majestic experience? I’d go further and suggest it might even border on the mystical. Why? Because the encounter transforms people.

“Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults—unless, of course, you want the same treatment. Don’t condemn those who are down; that hardness can boomerang. Be easy on people; you’ll find life a lot easier. Give away your life; you’ll find life given back, but not merely given back—given back with bonus and blessing. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity.” Luke 6:35-36 the Message

Or, if you prefer a more traditional translation

If you give to others, you will be given a full amount in return. It will be packed down, shaken together, and spilling over into your lap. The way you treat others is the way you will be treated. Luke 6:36 CEV

Beyond Jesus' teachings, almost all other religions espouse the beauty, nobility, and benefits of generosity. Islam emphasizes the concept of Zakat, one of the Five Pillars of Islam. Muslims are required to give a portion of their wealth (usually 2.5%) to help the less fortunate and support various social welfare initiatives. In addition to Zakat, Muslims are encouraged to engage in voluntary acts of charity, known as Sadaqah, to express generosity and kindness. Dana, or the act of giving, is a fundamental virtue in Hinduism. It is believed that selfless giving contributes to spiritual growth. Hindus are encouraged to give to those in need, including food, shelter, and education. Like Hinduism, Buddhism places importance on the practice of Dana, or generosity. Buddhists believe that generosity helps break the cycle of craving and attachment and leads to a compassionate and selfless life.

Generosity plays a vital role in the social fabric of communities, economics, and nations. One might even suggest it serves as the glue for the whole world. Researcher Cathryn Townsend

The Human Generosity Project explores how societies improve their collective well-being.  “In certain communities, giving to those in need, with no expectation of return, is normalized and expected. The project researchers have found such behavior around the world, including among herders and hunter-gatherers in East Africa. And findings thus far suggest that such generous societies are more likely to survive during difficult times.” According to an article in Scientific American.

Not only do collective societies benefit from generosity, but individuals do as well.  

Generosity—the quality of being kind and understanding, the willingness to give others things that have value—is often defined as an act of selflessness; however, studies are now showing that generosity is actually (selfishly) in one's best interest. Practicing generosity is a mental health principle that could be the key to a meaningful and healthy life.

That statement seems to fly in the face of decades of research and conventional wisdom—equating “human nature” with selfishness and aggression. Yet, a more complex and nuanced understanding of human nature has emerged in recent years. While studies no doubt suggest that humans have a propensity for self-interest—and these studies have drawn understandable attention—research has revealed that currents of generosity also run deep through us, according to a white paper at the Templeton Foundation. “Generosity comes in many forms, from charitable donations to formal volunteering to helping a stranger to care for a spouse or a child. What these and other examples have in common is that they involve “giving good things to others freely and abundantly.”

The Dalai Lama famously said, “if you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”

Extending compassionate generosity improves the world and enriches our experience of life. Feeling down? Give something away—time, Attention, energy, or resources.

“That I feed the hungry, forgive an insult, and love my enemy – these are great virtues. But what if I should discover that the poorest of beggars and most impudent of offenders are all within me, and that I stand in need of all the alms of my own kindness; that I myself am the enemy who must be loved – what then?”

— Carl G. Jung

Are the Creeds of Any Value?

Critiquing or discounting creeds and dogmas is fashionable of late. But today, I will make a case for their value in the spirit that we all seek a mature spiritual life.

First, a little history.

Two thousand years ago, the ancient Near East, from Greece to India, down through Egypt, experienced a plethora of philosophies, religious movements, and cults of all kinds of imaginative thinking. On the one hand, it was a fertile engagement of human consciousness but also utter chaos. When the early followers of Jesus of Nazareth began forming communities, they saw the movement as a reforming of Judaism. This is why they started in synagogues, but this shifted with Paul's missionary travels to the Gentiles of the Mediterranean world. As the decades evolved, a whole variety of Christianities (is that a word?) emerged. Some had varied beliefs and teachings, and in some cases, the ideas were 180 degrees in opposition to one another.

As the early Christian faith was taking shape, it became necessary to clarify the teachings of this new faith. This led to the establishment of various statements of teachings, which became creeds and doctrines over time. (I've been reading a helpful overview by Robert Louis Wilken, The Spirit of Early Christian Thought if you are interested) In brief, these creeds, such as the Apostles, Nicene, and Athanasian Creeds, became the cornerstones of the early church. Looking back on this process from today's vantage point, one might offer critiques, noting who was favored and what ideas became dominant. But that's for another day.

But today, it's quite common for even regular church attendees to question aspects of the creeds. 100% affirmation of the Creeds. Seems hard to come by. As I’ve pointed out previously, 21st-century people often say, "I'm Spiritual but not religious because I don't believe in those creeds and dogmas."

Confession

I'll confess to looking at some aspects of these creeds and thinking, “I'm not sure that makes any sense to me, or Nope, I don't buy that line, or Wait, can we pause the worship service because this part of this Creed doesn't make sense to me.”

If you've read to this point and are still getting familiar with any of these Creeds, below are the earliest and the shortest. It's called the Apostle’s Creed and reads as follows:

I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born of the virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead.*
On the third day he rose again; he ascended into heaven, he is seated at the right hand of the Father,
and he will come to judge the living and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

*or, "he descended into hell,"

If you are outside or inside the Christian faith, you might wonder about those questions I mentioned above. What do some of these phrases mean?

How can one embrace these creeds, confessions, and doctrines that come from another point in human history? Here are three movements, approaches, tools, or concepts that have helped me through my years of wrestling with creeds and doctrines.

Movement # 1

“A map is not the actual territory.” In 1931, in New Orleans, Louisiana, mathematician Alfred Korzybski used this phrase to describe a particular problem.[1] (Please don't ask me to explain the math. I'm just glad I filed my taxes successfully last weekend.) But the saying has become a helpful way of capturing our use of metaphor. In this case, we must remember that the Creeds, doctrines, and dogmas are maps, but they are not the thing itself. We are attempting to find language that gets us to view God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.

But, we human beings tend to literalize language. Or, as DH Lawrence once said using the same metaphor, “The map appears to us more real than the land.”[2] In other words, we tend to make the Apostle's Creed to be God or a god.

But that is not the purpose of the Creed. The map is not the territory.

Movement # 2

Author and professor Ann Ulanov tackled this in a Psychology and Religion course at Union Theological Seminary when she described the creeds as a foundational aspect needing our response. That's not her precise language, but it's close. The idea is that we need something to respond to and wrestle with. The creeds serve that purpose. Without them, we are grasping in thin air. A common refrain I hear from parents of young children regarding their decision not to raise them in a particular faith centers around the sentence, "I'll let them make up their mind as they grow up." While I'm all for people finding their way in life, by providing nothing for the children to engage, you aren’t helping them. People, especially children, need a place to put their feet down. Healthy ways to do this include providing flexibility and engagement and encouraging curiosity and wonder.

My point here is the creeds give us something to engage, even argue and fight with. When I taught confirmation to 7th and 8th graders, I often put up a poster of the Creed and said, “ok, find something in here that doesn't make sense to you.” This led to some beautiful conversations. These yutes learned that faith is not static but demands, even hopes, for a robust engagement. Let’s wrestle with this stuff, people! Our lives will be richer.

Movement # 3

Lastly, I'd like to dissect the word ‘believe.”

The Apostles and Nicene Creeds begin with I believe or We believe. When we read this word, we immediately jump to our default hyper-rationalist understanding of the word believe. It's an intellectual ascent or affirmation of what’s written down. “To think that something is true, correct or real,” as the Cambridge Dictionary says. But is that the original intent?

Diana Butler Bass did fine work on this subject in the book Christianity After Religion. She traces the language origins of “belief “ from the ancient Greek and Latin through the old Germanic and English languages. The various translations of the ancient words came down to us in the English-speaking world, with the word ‘believe’ understood as making an intellectual determination weighing evidence between multiple factors. Instead, Bass and other scholars help us revisit the intent of biblical literature and ancient creeds. The original language would translate those words more like ‘belove’ instead of ‘believe.’ When we ‘belove’ something or someone, it roots us in a relationship. More appropriate words for our time would substitute belief with trust, value, and love.

This shifts toward something more like a marriage vow. We say "I do" as a pledge of faithfulness and loving service to and with others. A marriage vow stating, “I believe you exist in a spatial reality standing here in front of me” does not signify the couple's relationship. But, I cherish you, love you, and trust in you is the intent of the vows at a wedding.

This has been helpful for me as I approach the creeds and doctrines of the church. Go back and read the Apostle’s Creed and substitute out the word believe, and in its place, try out trust, cherish, love, and devote. It changes our engagement and moves us toward a relational, experiential dynamic that moves us toward the state and direction of our hearts, souls, and minds.

All three tools have helped me view the Creeds as something akin to poetry. This map of faith gives me a starting point for a conversational relationship with the world; with Life; indeed with God.

I've been hanging out with the Sonnets of Malcolm Guite of late. His book Soundings the Seasons is now my holy book of this season in life and Lent. Below is his Sonnet on the Holy Trinity, one of the central doctrines reflected in the church's Creeds. We could use his Sonnets instead of Creeds in our liturgy on Sunday. Guite would not endorse that suggestion, but it is a way to expand our relationship with the sacred.  (click the title of the poem to listen to Guite recite it)

Trinity

In the Beginning, not in time or space,

But in the quick before both space and time,

In Life, in love, in co-inherent Grace,

In three in one and one in three, in rhyme,

In music, in the whole creation story,

In His own image, His imagination,

The Triune Poet makes us for His glory,

And makes us each the other’s inspiration.

He calls us out of darkness, chaos, chance,

To improvise a music of our own,

To sing the chord that calls us to the dance,

Three notes resounding from a single tone,

To sing the End in whom we all begin;

Our God beyond, beside us and within.

On the Transfiguration

Today, in much of the Western Christian Church, is the Sunday of the Transfiguration. A word that comes to us from the Greek word, metemorphothe. You’ll recognize it in the English word metamorphosis. (meta morphe essentially changed) It's a story often overlooked when reading the New Testament narratives. I think that's because Western rational-minded folks don't know what to do with it.

If you need a refresher, here is the version from the earliest of the four Gospels:

The Transfiguration

2 Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter, James, and John and led them up a high mountain apart by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, 3 and his clothes became dazzling bright, such as no one on earth could brighten them. 4 And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. 5 Then Peter said to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." 6 He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. 7 Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud, there came a voice, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" 8 Suddenly, when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus. – Mark 9:2-8

This reads like many mystical visions we are familiar with throughout history. Whether it be Mohammed, St Teresa of Avilla, Howard Thurman, or the man I met years ago on a Sunday morning who shared with me his mysterious encounter. As Howard Thurman has reminded us, "We are visited in ways that we can understand and in ways that are beyond our understanding…"

But the Transfiguration holds so much more than this. That's one of the reasons I reached out to Sarah Hinlicky Wilson for a conversation about her new book, Seven Ways of Looking at the Transfiguration. The audio is available on my podcast.

Wilson does an excellent job of dissecting all this story's significant aspects and symbols. The mountain, the dazzling light, the figures of Elijah and Moses, the tents, and the voice from the cloud all get due in her upcoming book. Preachers will benefit from this resource for years to come. But what's also important is her understanding of the placement of this story in the whole narrative, from Jesus's baptism to the Resurrection and beyond.

The Transfiguration has gotten some attention from artists and poets throughout history. I've placed a few of those images in this essay. Leaning into the mysterious, I prefer images with poetic imagination rather than attempting to document the actual event as if one could do that.

The British poet and priest Malcolm Guite captured the essence of this story well in this sonnet. (If you click the title below, you can listen to Guite read the poem, which I recommend as it brings the poem to life)

Transfiguration

For that one moment, 'in and out of time,'
On that one mountain where all moments meet,
The daily veil that covers the sublime
In darkling glass fell dazzled at his feet.
There were no angels full of eyes and wings
I am just living glory full of truth and grace.
The Love that dances at the heart of things
Shone out upon us from a human face
And to that light the light in us leaped up,
We felt it quicken somewhere deep within,
A sudden blaze of long-extinguished hope
Trembled and tingled through the tender skin.
Nor can this blackened sky, this darkened scar
Eclipse that glimpse of how things really are.

But what or how could we bring all this into our daily lives? We are, after all, the Notebooks of Everyday Spirituality and Ordinary Mysteries.

In his weekly column, my colleague Bishop Nicholas Knisely of the Episcopal Diocese of Rhode Island writes a helpful application of this story: "In David Brooks' new book "How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen," he speaks about the process of illumination - how someone can so totally see another person so that the viewer glimpses the light that shines within the one at whom they are gazing. He talks too about people who are naturally or have learned to be "illuminators" who, by the ability to see the other, cause them to become greater than they were."

One way to bear witness to the dazzling light might just be engaging in a very human, down-to-earth practice of listening to another person. We've got an epidemic of loneliness out there. I can't help but wonder if one way to transfigure this world might be through listening ears and attentive eyes.

Until next time,

James Hazelwood, writer, bishop, and spiritual director, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. He has a new book in process, Ordinary Mysteries: Reflections on Two Worlds of Life. It is due out in April. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

Our Religion Problem

Recently, I heard a priest summarize our religious problem quite well. He said, “Sometimes I wonder if the church’s main problem is that it points people to the church rather than God.” I don’t believe he was speaking exclusively of his tradition.

One of the most fashionable statements made by people here in the United States in recent years is, “I’m spiritual but not religious.” When I asked what they meant by that statement, most followed up with one of two statements.

“I’m not much for all those rigid doctrines telling me what I should believe.”

or

“I’m just not into organized religion.”

In my experience, the church is a rather unorganized mess, so I try to dissuade them on that front. If you want a disorganized, chaotic, or inefficient religion, I suggest they consider a local church. My attempt at humor is typically greeted with a smile and a dismissive “haha, but that’s not what I meant.”

What they mean is an aversion to church. These people view religion as restrictive on their personal beliefs and practices. Yet, they find the word spiritual to be broader, more open, and likely a word that leaves their experience of the sacred as relevant and accepted.

Engagement with institutional religion is in decline, especially among Christians. The Pew Research data reveal a decline in other religions as well.

However, interest in the spiritual (broadly defined) is holding steady and, in some ways, increasing. The Fetzer Institute recently reported:

•  Engaging in prayer, art, and time in nature were the most frequent practices reported by nearly two-thirds of interviewees who consider themselves both spiritual and religious.
•  Survey participants reported that almost every spiritual activity people practiced supported their spiritual growth and mental well-being.
•  Seven out of ten people said being in nature gave them a sense of hope. Nearly three-quarters of people found prayer—however, they define it—helped them endure difficulties.

As Ted A. Smith, author of The End of Theological Education, quips during a recent Boston School of Theology lecture,“Sales of Tarot cards hit an all-time high recently.”

You may or may not consider Tarot card sales, the growth of Yoga studios, or an increase in conferences related to dreams as your kind of religion, but clearly, many US Americans do.

As we witness the decline of the institutional expression of religion, we may also be seeing a resurgence of the original meaning of religion. The word religion is derived from the Latin religāre, meaning “to tie back”—to reconnect. At the heart of the word is the Latin verb ligāre, “to tie,” which is also the root of the English word ligament. Are we going back to reconnecting with a more substantive aspect of the sacred?

“No matter what the world thinks about religious experience, the one who has it possesses a great treasure, a thing that has become for him a source of life, meaning, and beauty, and that has given a new splendor to the world and to [hu]mankind.” Carl Jung[1]

When we use “religion” today, we associate it with churches, synagogues, and temples. In a way, we are speaking of institutional aspects of religion. But I want us to broaden our understanding of that word. I am hoping we can return to the reconnecting experience of religion.

Have you ever had an experience where you sensed you were in the presence of God?

I’m guessing the answer might be yes, but perhaps you’ve never thought that what you experienced was religious. Much of life is an encounter with the sacred. These encounters are unexplainable and weird and involve phenomena that counter our everyday life experiences. Some people have wildly bizarre engagements with the holy, while others have more ordinary events, and still others may have had some sort of “thing” happen that they believe they cannot share with anyone. I’m convinced almost everyone has had some type of meeting with the Holy, but many are reluctant to describe the experience to another person.

An old joke by the comedian Lily Tomlin runs something like, “Why is it when someone says they talk to God, we call it prayer, but when God talks to them, we call it crazy?”

The 19th-century philosopher and psychologist William James discusses this idea in his classic book, The Varieties of Religious Experience. He distinguishes between primary religious encounters, which are direct personal experiences, and secondary religion, which involves teachings about the faith or its organizational aspects. Most of what happens today in the US American church is secondary religion – information, analysis, and description. I’ve come to believe this is one of the reasons for the decline in participation in institutional religion.

In contrast, primary religion is the direct experience of the holy, such as encounters with phenomena, hauntings, numinous creatures, conversations with angels, and experiences of gentle calm. Those encounters can be mountain-top experiences or subtle reminders of the blessing of being alive. They can be out in nature, inside a sanctuary, or around the corner from your place of work. Last fall, my interview with Dale Allison highlighted his research on the many people Encountering Mystery.

We may live in a modern world filled with antibiotics, supersonic jets, and indoor plumbing, but the religious function deep within each human being has not disappeared. People are hungry and starved for primary religious experience. I wonder if our religion problem is that it’s not religious enough.

Until next time,

James Hazelwood, writer, bishop, and spiritual director, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. He has a new book in process, Ordinary Mysteries: Reflections on Two Worlds of Life. It is due out in April.

Our Insatiable Appetite for Certainty.

What is it about us humans and our obsession with certainty? We seem hardwired to seek control and predictability, forever trying to minimize life's inherent messiness. I suppose it stems from good intentions - no one enjoys anxiety and stress. But our strategies aimed at nailing down guarantees often backfire. The more we try to orchestrate outcomes, the more out-of-reach certainty becomes. Humans tend to feel happier when we can control our environment. In studies of work environments, employee job satisfaction often correlates with the amount of control employees have over their work. As children, we long for the day when we can do whatever we want.

In my book, Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life, I tell the story of a former colleague in ministry. He and I served together at a congregation in Rhode Island for many years; he was a retired Methodist minister with a gentle spirit, curious mind, and a delightfully subtle sense of humor. In his 80s, he confided to me one day in his office, "You know, I thought when I got older, all these questions of life and faith would get clearer, and the answers would reveal themselves. But that's not what's happening. Instead, the questions get larger and the answers more varied and even illusive."

“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

If you can get beyond the superficiality of many conversations with older people, they tend to agree with my colleague and Dr. Hollis. Our pursuit of certainty looks both absurd and, well, cute. As we move through life, we discover that the certainty we've been pursuing isn't there

At the beginning of the new year, I saw numerous articles with predictions for 2024. The topics ranged from stock market levels to sporting achievements, fashion trends, and religious practices. I realized they all had a thread running through the narrative. People attempting to manage their anxiousness regarding a world that seems less hospitable, more violent, and somewhat unstable. To survive this anxiety, we seek clarity, certainty, and direction. The ego functions best when it's in charge, whether it is or not. Jonathan Haidt, the social psychologist, suggests that we view the neocortex (the part of the brain associated with higher-order brain functions) as a presidential press secretary whose job it is to defend and justify whatever the president (the amygdala, with its intense emotions and cravings) does and says. In other words, our brains are wired for certainty, looking into the past or the future.

In a study from the 1950s, psychologist Leon Festinger analyzed a small religious cult that had predicted the end of the world. When the apocalypse failed to arrive on time, a normal reaction might have been for the cult members to change their belief in their ability to foresee it. However, the believers doubled down instead of readjusting in the face of the evidence, claiming that their faith had postponed the world's demise. When faced with the discomfort of hard evidence, our minds often make up another story to protect our cherished beliefs.

Yet, life is not certain. Life is not predictable. Life is not surefire.

The wisdom traditions of Buddhism and Stoicism have long grappled with the human relationship to certainty. These philosophical approaches appreciate impermanence and unpredictability as inherent to our world. Rather than endlessly struggling against the current, they advise focusing attention inward. As the Buddha taught, suffering arises from attachment to changing phenomena. By mastering the mind's tendencies, we gain access to a reservoir of inner calm, undisturbed by external storms.

The Stoics similarly emphasized developing equanimity despite circumstances beyond one's control. "It's not what happens to you, but how you react that matters," Epictetus supposedly remarked. The dichotomy of control reminds us to channel energy only into response-ability - those choices directly within our power. Going with the flow rather than resisting allows life's uncertainties to wash over us gracefully.

And then we have words from the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus of Nazareth articulates some ancient future wisdom for all of us:

Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?  And which of you by worrying can add a single hour to your span of life?   Matthew 6:26-27

A 20th-century version of this comes from Rev. Niebuhr, the original author of the Serenity prayer, now adopted by many in Alcoholics Anonymous.

God grant me the Serenity

To accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And the Wisdom to know the difference.

As one who has valued my agency in life, I'm learning to live with ambiguity. This is a challenge as a firstborn male six feet seven inches tall. I'm used to claiming and getting what my ego thinks I want and need. But life is increasingly out of my control. I can't make it do what I want it to do. Then, all these people around me have their ideas of how something should unfold. I experience this from the petty activities of waiting in line at a grocery store to the more significant events surrounding health matters.

Jalal Rumi 1207-1273 (artistic imagining)

A few weeks ago, I came across this ancient poem by the Sufi Mystic Jalal Rumi (1207-1273). Rumi reminds us to live life best with a spirit of accepting what unfolds.

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

James Hazelwood, writer, bishop, and spiritual director, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. He has a new book in process, a collection of essays on the two realms of life. It is due out this winter. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

Comprehending the Virgin Birth

I sat with clergy and seminary students about a year ago. In an offhand joking manner, when bantering about why they had invited me to join them on their retreat, a rather precocious minister said, "Well, Edward wants you to explain the virgin birth to us." After a few nervous chuckles from the group, I responded.

“Well, just remember this is all symbolic language. We get in trouble when we go down the road of literalism.”

An awkward silence came over the room before someone suggested we tackle a more manageable problem, like aging boilers in church basements.

I realized later that day my answer might have been received as a flip dismissive response, though I'd not intended it that way. Here we are a year later, and I'm finally getting to a more complete answer, though no answer to such questions is ever finished.

Before getting to the question about the virgin birth, let's tackle a basic assumption I hold about religious matters. When reading the scriptures of any religious tradition, including the Bible of Christianity, I’m firmly in the camp of embracing them as inspired as opposed to inerrant. The inerrant view is also known as the literalist view. This is the view that what is written is the way it is, just the facts. It is literally true. For example, the literalist view counts the biblical listing of generations to determine the universe's birthday as 4700 years ago. Any learnings about evolution, astronomy, and physics are dismissed because the scripture is inerrant (meaning without error.)

I'm of the inspired view of sacred literature. Namely, these stories have power, depth, and meaning. They convey a more profound truth than simply a type of historical record. I increasingly use the phrase symbolic faith or symbolic religion as a condensed version. Symbolic Christianity might be another phrase I'd use, and I’ve got in mind a book by that title down the road. The church historian John Dominic Crossan captures it well in this oft-cited quote:

“My point, once again, is not that those ancient people told literal stories and we are now smart enough to take them symbolically, but that they told them symbolically and we are now dumb enough to take them literally.”

― John Dominic Crossan, Who Is Jesus? Answers to Your Questions About the Historical Jesus

A common rebuttal or follow-up question to this quote might be:  “Does that mean none of this ever happened in real-time?” I believe that events happened, but we don't know the full details. They were oral traditions told for a generation, sometimes many generations, before being written down. But something did happen that caused people to respond and change their worldviews, lives, and priorities. These people experienced metanoia, a Greek word that means world-altering, head-spinning, 180 turnabout. CHANGE happened!

That brings us to the question about Mary and The Virgin Birth. The virgin birth of Jesus, which is more accurately labeled the virginal conception of Jesus, teaches that Jesus Christ was born apart from the normal process of procreation but supernaturally conceived in the womb of the virgin Mary by the power of the Holy Spirit. The teaching stems from two of the four gospel accounts of Jesus' life, Matthew and Luke, likely written between the years 80 and 95 of the first century, roughly fifty years after the events of his life in ancient Palestine. Mark skips Jesus' childhood entirely, and John has a Ph.D. dissertation on cosmology, but Mary’s role is minimal in his gospel.

Joseph Campbell, the well-known 20th-century teacher of world mythologies, has pointed out the numerous ancient narratives of virgin birth from antiquity. The virgin birth motif appears in Greek mythology, Celtic tales, Native American folklore, Hindu and Buddhist traditions. A common theme involves a son born without a human father who then spends his life searching for his father.

These stories comprise symbolic language for an internal human quest. The extraordinary lifelong journey to find the pot of gold, the holy grail, or what we might refer to today as a place of wholeness and some might call it the soul. It all begins in this miraculous birth, the beginning of a spiritual birth. The German Dominican Mystic Meister Eckhart translates this concept well for us.

We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly, but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and my culture? This, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of Man is begotten in us. ~Meister Eckhart (1260-1328)

In the Eastern Orthodox communion, the Virgin Mary is named Theotokos, which the Church recognized at the Third Ecumenical Council in AD 431. The title Theotokos (Θεοτόκος) is a Greek word that means Birth-giver to God or God-bearer. The most common of these translations is Mother of God. The Orthodox Church calls the Theotokos Panagia (all-holy) not because she is equal to God. Instead, they claim her as a supreme example of synergy, or cooperation, between God and humanity.

In 1950, the Roman Catholic church venerated the Virgin Mary with a doctrine of her assumption into heaven. Carl Jung found great significance in this event from a psychological perspective. He believed that events such as these reflected our inner quest for wholeness. Here, the godhead is completed in a foursome and includes a feminine aspect.

 "But anyone who has followed with attention the visions of Mary, which have been increasing over the last few decades and has taken their psychological significance into account, might have known what was brewing. The fact, especially, that it was largely children who had the visions might have given pause for thought, for in such cases, the collective unconscious is always at work ...One could have known for a long time that there was a deep longing in the masses for an intercessor and mediatrix who would at last take her place alongside the Holy Trinity and be received as the 'Queen of heaven and Bride at the heavenly court.' For more than a thousand years, it has been taken for granted that the Mother of God dwelt there.”  Carl Jung in Answer to Job p. 99

It's depicted in the painting Coronation of Mary by the Holy Trinity by französisch Handschrift from 1457. I find it curious that the artist grasped something five hundred years before the church’s recognition. (See the image below)

All of this begs the question in these days before Christmas Eve, when religious and non-religious might find themselves in a church hearing the reading from Luke’s Gospel.

In those days, Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world.  This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.  And everyone went to their own town to register.  So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David.  He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child.  While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, , and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. (Luke 2:1-7)

If you are sitting there and wondering what this is all about, one way to explore that question might follow Meister Eckhart. We could ask, "We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself?”

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Is it the End of the World?

Several years ago, a member of the congregation I served asked if I would officiate at a relative's wedding. I agreed as a favor, even though I had some concerns based on rumors I had heard. When I showed up at the severely in need of renovation beach hotel, I received news that the ceremony would be delayed while the groom secured a sound system. After the groomsmen assembled a makeshift sound system, I stood in the main hall awaiting the wedding party's arrival. After a few minutes and some scurrying back and forth, the couple arrived with their attendants and processed into the hall as the lyrics from an R.E.M. song blared, "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine." I smiled and thought, what a curious way to enter a marriage. Years later, I learned the couple split up.

This Sunday in the Western Christian tradition, the season of Advent begins with selected readings addressing the coming end of the world. Many people associate the month of December with Christmas or Hannukah, so this first Sunday in Advent seems out of place to many. But adventus in the Latin means the coming, which is a reference to the in breaking of the infinite into the temporal.

Sunday's gospel from St. Mark is haunting and daunting if read from a literalistic point of view.

Mark 13:24-37

"But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in clouds' with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. "From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly, I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. "But about that day or hour, no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you, I say to all: Keep awake."

My goodness, this does sound like the end of the world as we know it, but I’m not feeling fine.

Passages such as this are very much in the tradition of apocalyptic literature, which Judaism and Christianity inherited from the ancient Persian religion of Zoroastrianism. At its core, Zoroastrianism emphasizes a never-ending battle between good and evil — a contest between the religion's God, Ahura Mazda, and an evil spirit, Ahriman. Believers can make good or bad choices; Zoroaster urged them to think good thoughts, say good words, and do good deeds.

The Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament books of Daniel, Ezekial, selected passages in the gospels, and the Book of Revelation all contain influences of these apocalyptic writings. But this literature is not merely a part of the past.

Apocalyptic visions of society's catastrophic collapse have become ubiquitous in contemporary books, movies, shows, and even news headlines. Zombie plagues, climate catastrophes, pandemics, rogue A.I., alien invasions - our screens overflow with disturbing scenes of civilizational ruin. The metaphor of apocalypse powerfully speaks to present-day societal anxieties. But what deeper meaning does this persistent imagery hold for modern consciousness? Examining apocalyptic thought throughout history provides insight into why this theme continues to dominate the collective imagination.

The archetypal roots of apocalyptic vision trace back over 2500 years to Persian Zoroastrianism’s prophecy of history ending in fiery Armageddon. Apocalypse symbolically encodes a worldview of good and evil, order and chaos, locked in eternal battle toward some final reckoning. It envisions the violent destruction of existing institutions as a painful yet necessary phase enabling society’s salvation, rebirth, and transformation.

Why does apocalyptic expectation continue to grip the imagination so powerfully in a supposedly rational scientific age? Depth psychology perspectives provide insight. 20th-century psychologist Carl Jung saw apocalyptic visions emanating from the collective unconscious – a kind of common pool lurking beneath humanities awareness. Just as we are fascinated with horror movies at Halloween, so too human beings are captivated by energies personified as destructive monsters and demons. Apocalypse symbolically expresses this psychic tension. It reveals society's buried fear of getting devoured by unacknowledged inner shadow.

Additionally, apocalyptic stories reflect anxieties around the shadowy side of technology and late capitalist systems spinning out of control. Concerns about the climate crisis, global pandemic, nuclear war, and robotic overlords all originate from a sense that the engines of scientific "progress" inevitably invite catastrophic unintended consequences. Like in ancient myths of flood and fire destroying corrupt civilizations, today's tales of climate disasters and zombie plagues manifest fears around reckless hubris provoking nature's wrath.

Yet, apocalyptic narratives also touch on a deep-rooted longing for cleansing revelation and societal rebirth. Destruction opens the space for creation anew. After the prophesized Ragnorak battle in Norse legend, the world regenerates peacefully. Biblical Armageddon presages a thousand-year utopian rule. Apocalypse becomes a means of imagining flawed structures of greed and oppression consumed to nourish new possibilities. Our collective obsession with cataclysmic collapse intimates a profound, if unconscious, wish for revolutionary positive change.

Perhaps all of this end of the world talk, functions to process anxiety and grief about ongoing injustice and environmental harm. Compelled to witness humanity's destructive capacity daily in headlines and social media feeds, fantasies of apocalyptic resolution offer an unconscious salve. Externalizing fears into symbolic collective narratives can create meaningful space for contemplating cracks in existing systems. This could facilitate awakening new purpose and collaborative action.

For all its visions of dread, apocalyptic imagery also strangely renews hope. It pulls back illusion and clears space for truth-telling and conscious reckoning that critically illuminates the path ahead. Apocalypse as a metaphorical forest fire exposes societal shadows and releases regenerative seedlings to nourish rebirth. A sobering memento mori, it cautions that the future rests on awakening from delusion now before time runs out. We may welcome revelation instead of disaster. For the opportunity still exists to create renewal without all-consuming calamity.

Michael Meade's book "Why the World Doesn't End: Tales of Renewal in Times of Loss" explores the theme of apocalypse and renewal. Meade delves into the symbolic meanings and wisdom found in mythic origin stories, folk tales, and religious narratives. He draws parallels between these ancient narratives and the concept of renewal following crisis or destruction, much like the jack pine tree, which requires the heat of a forest fire to release its seeds. These stories from various cultures, including Judeo-Christian, Hindu, and Mesopotamian traditions, emphasize that apocalyptic events often symbolize new beginnings rather than absolute ends.

In Mark’s narrative above, I note the image of the fig tree. “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.”

We could trace a whole line of imagery around trees in sacred literature from the tree in an ancient garden to the tree on Calvary to the tree of life in revelation. Perhaps it’s this image borrowed from nature that helps us see the apocalypse in its original meaning, that of revealing or to uncover. Could it be that the cycle of regeneration – birth, death and rebirth is our most helpful perspective on all things apocalyptic?

Until next time,

James Hazelwood, writer, bishop, and spiritual director, is the author of Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life and Everyday Spirituality: Discover a Life of Hope, Peace, and Meaning. He has a new book in process, a collection of essays on the two realms of life. It is due out this winter. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net

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In Gratitude

What’s your favorite holiday?

In my experience, your stage of life probably influences how you answer that question. Most children would probably name Christmas their favorite holiday, while most adults would choose the Thanksgiving celebration as their preference.

I base that conclusion partly on my experience every November when I frequently hear friends and neighbors express sentiments such as: “It’s my favorite holiday of the year.”

When I inquire as to why, the speakers often add comments like these:

“It’s all about people and gathering with no emphasis on things.”

“I love the traditional meal; it brings back so many good memories.”

“It’s the least commercial holiday.”

“How can you not love a day set aside for giving thanks?”

Thanksgiving has its roots in a harvest festival but was solidified as a national holiday day in 1863 under President Abraham Lincoln, who established it amid the American Civil War. Lincoln’s proclamation acknowledges: “The year that is drawing towards its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies.”

Lincoln offers what is essentially a prayer that God would “care [for] all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility, and Union.”

The Thanksgiving Holiday is more controversial in some quarters today as it brings to mind our sordid history of European colonists and subsequent generations' treatment of the indigenous peoples of Turtle Island, the name Native people have for North America. That’s a history worth exploring, regretting, and atoning for, but that topic will happen in another essay.

Thanksgiving Day affords us a time for gratitude and atonement. Many spend the day with family or friends, sharing a meal together. The focus shifts from the busyness of daily life to a ritual of relationships and appreciation. But in 2010, several large brick-and-mortar stores tried to change everything when they decided to infringe on this sacred American holiday.

The strategy was a blatant attempt to increase market share by interrupting the Thanksgiving holiday with early Black Friday shopping. More retailers jumped on board in 2011 and 2012. By 2016, however, many chains were backpedaling and once again starting their annual promotional frenzy on the Friday after Thanksgiving. While the long-term trend toward 24/7/365 shopping will no doubt continue, there was at least a brief moment of rebellion.

Americans need and want their day of gratitude. We realize that we are human beings, not simply cogs in a commercial enterprise. 

Many parents diligently train children in the value and appropriateness of saying “thank you.” I’ve watched this unfold in recent years with my grandchildren. As other adults bring the children gifts, offer kind gestures, or hand them ice cream cones, one or both of their parents will say, “And what do you say?” This inevitably prompts the obligatory “Thank you” from the children. On occasion, the words can get stretched out, as in “thaaaaaaank yoooooooou.” One might wonder about the sincerity of the words, but that’s not the point at this young age. Parents are attempting to build habits, and saying thank you is a habit of worth in our society.

Expressions of gratitude are even more potent in written form. What stands out in an era of email, texting, and mailboxes crammed with junk mail? Amid an average of 848 pieces of junk mail every year, a handwritten envelope stands out, and when the contents include a handwritten personalized thank you note, I consider that a form of sacred text.

The handwritten thank you note is an offering, an affirmation of a covenantal relationship that we consummated over dinner, coffee or a tangerine. Thank you. When we express appreciation and gratitude, we certify that an event, however small or large, has sealed our relationship in a way that has power – the power to heal, mend, and even transform the future.

The expression of gratitude and appreciation is ubiquitous in all of the world's faith traditions. Did Moses, Jesus, Mohammed or Buddha have anything to say? 

“Singing aloud a song of thanksgiving and telling all your wondrous deeds.” The Psalmist writes in Psalm 26:7.

“Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.” St. Paul writes in Philippians 4:6.

“These two people are hard to find in the world. Which two? The one who is first to do a kindness, and the one who is grateful and thankful for a kindness done.” The Buddha, in the Anguttara Nikaya.

“The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude, chewing a piece of sugarcane.” The Islamic Sufi Poet Rumi.

“If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.” The Christian Mystic Meister Eckhart.

I think you get the point.

You say “thank you” every single day. Most likely it rolls right off your tongue and you don’t even know it.

Someone opens a door as you walk into the grocery store. “Thank you.”

A co-worker offers to buy you a cup of coffee. “Thank you.”

Your teenager looks at you and smiles for the first time in weeks, and you think, Huh? What’s going on? Has the universe realigned itself? “Oh, ah, thank you.”

The ancient Hebrew people had a word for thanksgiving: Todah, which has roots in a similar word, Yadah. Todah shows up everywhere in the Bible – when choirs sing, gifts are offered and prayers are spoken. It’s rooted in the idea of a hand extended in adoration. But notice how giving thanks connects with music and singing, and, wow, can’t you hear the harmony? When we offer thanks, it’s as if we are singing a song, humming a tune, or laying down a soundtrack for a movie musical.

When you say thank you, you are not merely repeating some autopilot, obligatory, culture-bound phrase. Okay, so yes, that is what you are doing on one level. But that’s not all you are doing. You are also singing gratitude, saying a prayer of appreciation, and connecting with thousands of years of spiritual practitioners. You are doing a holy thing. You are engaging in a spiritual practice every day.

So speak a word or a phrase, write an email, jot a note, break bread together, open a door, or buy someone a coffee. Speak and listen for the Todah singing across the universe, offering gratitude and giving thanks.

In Gratitude,

A version of this essay appeared in my book Everyday Spirituality

On Doing the Dishes

There is an old Zen saying: “After enlightenment…the dishes.” Similarly, Brother Lawrence (1614-1691) served as a Carmelite lay brother in France. He’s known for his book, The Practice of the Presence of God. The most effective way Brother Lawrence had to communicate with God was to simply do his ordinary work. Yes, if you read that book, you will discover the spiritual enlightenment of washing dishes.

I’ve been surrounded by many dirty dishes in the past few weeks; grungy spots, hard-to-remove stains, freshly spattered tomato paste – the whole gamut. The once pristine glasses now have stains from red wine and the porcelain white bowls are ringed from sweet deserts now digested. All this, not to mention the stubborn rings in the coffee mugs. OK, I could easily run this metaphor down the drain. I think you get the idea…daily life and chores and work have consumed my time.

Who has time to read, write, and reflect on the Dynamis of Healing in Orthodox Theology and Depth Psychology? That new book looks so inviting, but I’ve barely cracked the introduction. Instead, the everydayness of everyday life is what beckons me lately.

What to Do?

In the midst of all this, I found that old Zen saying in a bookmark, in, yes, my copy of Brother Lawrence’s book. Somehow, I took a little solace in those words. So, this edition of the Notebooks of James Hazelwood is a brief reminder that sometimes the sacred shows up in the ordinary, in the raking of leaves, yeh even the muckraking of work, and of course in the dishes.

So wash away my friend, wash those dishes, and know you are good company with Carmelite monks and Zen Bodhisattvas.

I’ll return with a longer essay soon… after the dishes are washed.

Why Bother with a Spiritual life?

In a world increasingly suspicious of institutional forms of spiritual expression, often called religion, it's easy to throw up one's hands and say, "Why bother?"

That exasperation is understandable. Many have walked away from religion, especially in Western Europe and the United States. I’m sure you’ve all read the statistics.

Despite my background as one of the original nones, I grew up with no religious background until my early 20s. I've lived and breathed church world for nearly four decades. I've seen it all: the good, the bad and the ugly. Serving as a bishop has opened my eyes to the underbelly of the church. Yet, I've also met some amazingly generous and servant-hearted people. Religion can serve the good of the planet, or it can further its demise.

The Gallup Corporation is out with some interesting new research on the benefits of spirituality, and you can read about it here. In brief, they highlight five potential benefits for people who engage in a broadly defined spirituality.

01 - Spirituality can help develop a sense of purpose and positive coping skills.

02 - Spirituality can help create social connections.

03 - Spirituality can help increase community and civic engagement.

04 - Spirituality can help foster feelings of security and stability.

05 - Spirituality can help workplaces support holistic wellbeing.

Much of what I research and write about centers around these five benefits. Focusing on the spiritual dimension of life, especially in the second half of life (post-50 years of age), enriches our sense of purpose and meaning.

The author James Hollis puts it this way.

“The act of consciousness is central; otherwise, we are overrun by the complexes. The hero in each of us is required to answer the call of individuation. We must turn away from the cacophony of the outer world to hear the inner voice. When we can dare to live its promptings, then we achieve personhood. We may become strangers to those who thought they knew us, but at least we are no longer strangers to ourselves.”

― James Hollis, The Middle Passage: From Misery to Meaning in Midlife

Recently, someone asked me if I thought one needs to be active in a religion to have a meaningful spiritual life. My short answer was no, but my longer answer is what I wish I had said to them. Since I missed my opportunity with that person, I'll let you all in on my internal dialogue with myself. A few days later, I realized my error and sought to amend my response. Here goes.

Could we revisit your question regarding religion and the spiritual life? I answered too abruptly. I said no. I didn't think one needed an active life in a religion to have a meaningful spiritual life, but here are some further thoughts.

My answer remains no if participation in a religion is solely about the mechanics of the organization. Note the word solely. In other words, if all you are doing is attending committee meetings and focusing energy on perpetuating the institution to keep it going, my answer would remain no.

But if participating in a religion relates to one or two of those five benefits listed above, that's a different story. For instance, if your church synagogue or temple has a meaningful engagement around hunger or housing issues in your community. Engagement with that service component can feed a sense of purpose, create social connections, or provide community engagement. (1, 2, or 3 above). If the rituals of your house of worship are life-giving, enriching, and intellectually engaging, that may further your sense of purpose.

If your religion does not have at least two of the five benefits listed above, it has moved toward a self-perpetuating organization. I believe much of what is happening regarding the decline of the church here in the US centers on this loss of intentionality. I've been reading several biographies of religious leaders this fall in preparation for a class I'll be teaching soon. One common theme they all mention is a point in their ministry when their church lost focus on those five benefits and shifted toward perpetuating the institution.

Eugene Peterson and Barbara Brown Tayler described when the congregations they served defaulted to the neutral gear. The energy had gone out of the community, and their ministers struggled. In some cases, the minister leaves; in other cases, there is a wilderness time followed by renewal.

In my book Weird Wisdom for the Second Half of Life, I describe a dream I had in midlife when I felt flat. While the congregation I served seemed to hum along, my internal hmm had become a harumph.

In 2007, just two years shy of my fiftieth birthday, I had the following dream during one of our congregation's service trips to a remote village in Honduras.

I have decided to enroll in a German language instruction class where Professor H.S. will be the instructor. (She is the same professor I had in waking life for my Spanish classes in preparation for this trip to Honduras.) We introduced ourselves on the final day of class, and I said I could have been better at languages. This professor agrees with me. But I am in the class because I like to learn. We seem to be waiting for something, but no one knows who or what. Finally, the former bishop from New York arrives to much fanfare, like a head of state style welcome. His wife and two daughters accompany him. He is to preach at a worship service held at an ancient coliseum. Before the worship service, I learned that the Coliseum church's pastor was involved in a scandal. The bishop allows the man to work things through instead of removing him immediately. I seem pleased with his decision and wonder if I am that pastor. After the worship, the German/Spanish professor approaches the bishop and me. She thanks the bishop, then turns to me and says, "You have a pastorate to rebuild."

This dream, along with my father's death, nudged me back into analysis with a minister who was a Jungian analyst. In addition, he had a long history of practicing Buddhist meditation. Our work over ten-plus years moved me from passively accepting the ruins of a decaying religion to something much more vital. Today, I work with a spiritual director, and dream exploration continues to be at the center of my spiritual practice. A few years ago, we worked on this dream which came to me during the Covid years.

I am on a vacation visiting a city park in Rome.

First, I see a few statues and ancient ruins in the park. They are

eroded, discolored, and partially covered in vegetation. Then, I

came across some steps that lead underground below the park. I

find a large cavern filled with hundreds and hundreds of people

gathered for a worship service. It seems I am the founder of this

new church. A man and woman walk up to welcome me, and they

say, “This is not a church with answers, though you will find

answers along the way.”

I share both dreams, knowing full well the risk Joseph took sharing his dreams. (See Genesis 37) But I wanted you to see the beginning and the ending of a time of intentional focus on the inner landscape. To quote James Hollis again, “We must turn away from the cacophony of the outer world to hear the inner voice. When we can dare to live its promptings, then we achieve personhood.”

As I am moving toward the conclusion of nearly four decades of work in the church, here’s what I have learned about the intersection of the institution of religion and the spiritual life.

1.     Most people in churches are there because they are hungry for one or more of those five benefits listed above. Others are there for reasons that center around their struggles with authority, power, and recognition. But even they, in their brokenness, are yearning for something more profound, though they seem less conscious of their hunger.

2.     Much energy goes into the organizational and institutional aspects of religious life in America. Looking back, I see that, in some ways, that work is connected with a gritty spiritual life. Navigating the complexities of people, programs, and buildings caused me to reflect on the places where my ego, my shadow, and my wounds were exposed. Yes, I got hurt at times, but I likely matured more in those challenges than at any time when heaps of praise fell upon me.

3.     In US America, with its extroverted solid sensing function, the culture does not value the spiritual life of the inner landscape. Coming to terms with that can challenge many who love nuance, contemplation, and intuitive functioning. As an introverted intuitive, that's been a personal struggle. But I learned about the ways extroverted spirituality can be very nourishing for you outward-oriented types. Music, Habitat for Humanity, and linear step-oriented sermons are equally valuable and legitimate.

4.     The church and religion are made up of flawed individuals. It could be a better place; it often fails, and people are people. But if you can accept that and hang in long enough, you'll slowly find something satisfying. The best churches comprise people who care about one another, serving their community and exploring the wonder. They may not have answers, but “you will find answers along the way.”

There’s more to write, and likely I will, but for now, I want to emphasize those five benefits cited above in the Gallup research as marks of a new religion for the 21st century. I encourage you to look them over again and ask yourself, where is my life intersecting with these benefits, and where would I like to grow?

01 - Spirituality can help develop a sense of purpose and positive coping skills.

02 - Spirituality can help create social connections.

03 - Spirituality can help increase community and civic engagement.

04 - Spirituality can help foster feelings of security and stability.

05 - Spirituality can help workplaces support holistic wellbeing.

Until next time,