The Mystery of Hope and Resilience  

O God, you are my God, for you I long;

For you, my soul is thirsting.

My body pines for you

Like a dry, weary land without water.

So I gaze on you in the sanctuary

To see your strength and your glory.

-       Psalm 62

On Sunday evening, following a two-hour delay, the Aer Lingus jet I was aboard touched down at Boston's Logan airport. I returned home after a week in Ireland at Glenstal Abbey near Limerick, Ireland. Yes, that’s the city best known for Frank McCourt’s novel Angela’s Ashes and the quirky often humorous rhyming AABBA poetry. My time was principally spent with a delightful group of Benedictine Monks and Jungian Analysts, all a part of the New York Center for Jungian Studies. It’s an annual event called Jung in Ireland. For many years I've longed to attend, and this year everything fell into place.

What I experienced was nothing short of transformative. And yet, there are no grand epiphanies to report, profoundly significant dreams, or conversions to witness. Instead, what happened to me most likely arose from my willingness to enter this experience with as little judgment as possible. I simply let the week wash over me. But lest I fall into "all emotion and abstraction," as Joni Mitchel would say, I ‘ll attempt to offer some specifics. Though describing mystery and soul processes can be a challenge.

For the longest time, I have been struggling with being a Christian. My questions about some church doctrines, the embarrassment of our history wedded to empire and exploitation, frustration over functional aspects of church life, and a general wondering who and what is this Christ figure. I have lived a personal despair and the collective one of our times. Last week, something shifted. What occurred in me did not negate my concerns or frustrations about Christianity. Instead, I began to see aspects of this religion through a new lens.

As our week progressed, we often heard a lecture in one session, typically teaching on Carl Jung's approach to the psyche or by one of the Benedictine monks on anything from medieval history, the botany and spirituality of the surrounding forest, or an exploration of the intersection of science and religion. With my brain firing on many levels, I attended the daily prayer services, vespers, and compline. These were traditional services with chanted liturgy, readings, prayers, incense…the daily office outlined by St. Benedict in the fifth century. But, going back and forth throughout the week between these two stimulating experiences, I suddenly heard prayers, liturgical phrases, and scriptures in a new way.

“As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be…”

“Come, Holy Spirit, and renew the hearts of your people.”

“Christ, be with me. Christ before me. Christ behind me. Christ deep within me.”

These and other lines I heard as expressions of a deeply mysterious and symbolic understanding of existence. The words left their post-enlightenment literalism and rang true to their intended symbolic and metaphorical cadence. I absorbed it all daily and at every liturgy, including the candles, the space, the plainsong, and the symbols on the altar. I didn't evaluate. I didn't judge. I just let it happen. For the first time in my life, I experienced the intended mystery.

“Religion,” says the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, “is a natural animation within a being through whom the wind of God blows three times a day, as a consequence of which we are at least – supple.” (Selected Letters 1902-1926)

Even the artwork on the walls breathed in fresh ways. Depictions of biblical narratives in new ways brought to life such stories as the Woman at the Well, as seen below. (John 4:7-38) Although I’ve known it intellectually for some time, I knew it in my soul for the first time. Namely, the literalism that has plagued Christianity needs to be set aside for an ancient/future expression of the faith. For me, this full claiming of a symbolic approach to religion moved from a simple exercise of the mind to an encounter with the heart, the soul, and the center of my being. It doesn’t diminish the faith at all, in fact it renews it.

A second aspect of the week, which held the theme "the mystery of hope and resilience," included several moments of vulnerability as presenters not only brought theory to the conversations but offered personal struggles and heartaches. One speaker described Jung's ideas of the Self with examples from his childhood trauma, a woman who works with patients who survived multiple generations of antisemitism offered glimpses of her own turmoil, and another detailed his tortuous labyrinth with mental illness. Throughout these conversations, complex and often abstract concepts were grounded in a level of honesty I have not experienced very often.

As we explored “the mystery of hope and resilience,” wondering what contributes to its manifestation in some people but not in others, we were reminded of the necessity of patience. In both the therapeutic settings and the general process of growing to be a mature human being, the admonishment became clear, “these processes take a long time.” Individuation is not a weekend workshop. Deep learning doesn't occur in a few years of school. "Our one authentic sin is impatience," we were told, echoing Franz Kafka. A monk said quite clearly, “we are contemptuous of slow.” I learned this again while walking toward the baggage claim at Logan airport. In front of me, a couple hobbled along, doing their best. But inside of me, I sensed a voice saying, “come on, let's get going.” Then I realized the errors of my way, and Kafka's words convicted me.

Patience is a virtue, and we live in a world increasingly devoid of it. I'm mindful on this cold rainy day in March. I want spring here now—enough winter weather. The garden is calling to be planted. Can I get the peas in now? But, all the forces of nature and the rhythm of the seasons are not quite ready. Patience. Patience.

Patience is what I need with myself and with other people. Years ago, I complained to my analyst about some people I knew. He reminded me, "most people are doing the best they can with who they are and what they've been through." Again, convicted. He was right. Patience.

"Love is patient and kind, not arrogant or rude," writes St. Paul. He could have added “or hurried.” The truth is that many of us find the length of time needed for healing or growth to be excruciating ­– in ourselves, our world, and in others. We want it now, and the truth is, that's just not how it works. Healing, maturation, and even a life of faith is a long slow process.

My struggles with the Christian faith and the church have often been dominated by a theme of impatience. I've been reading, worshipping, and wrestling for four decades in this faith I chose fresh out of college. Yet, in Ireland, that land of rain and myth and song, I caught glimpses of the mystery of hope and resilience.  

So today, I’m grateful.

More to come,