December 7, 2005

Dear Drummers,

A foot away from me on my desk at work are three ceramic figures: Ornately dressed, wearing Arabian-looking, sweeping gowns and crowns, they are the three wise men of the Christian tradition. They are part of the nativity scene that is traveling around the seminary these days. People receive their part (today my part is the wise men) and meditate on them, then pass them to another office. Tomorrow I may receive a donkey, or a Joseph. I don’t know.

The wise men fit very well into what I’d like to say to you about this week’s drum.

In the Celtic wheel of the year, we are entering the direction “North” which is associated with “battle.” There is a lot of interesting, challenging theology around that word that I won’t delve into here, except to say that spiritual battle is a crucial part of the spiritual life, and really should be embraced. The world jihad that we have heard so often these days in a negative context refers to an inner spiritual struggle against the forces that remove one from the presence of the divine. It is true that all of us live out our spirituality—it goes into our relationships, our politics, our economic choices—and this is why spirituality is such a crucial part of being human. The god you worship (even if you don’t use the word god or the word worship) becomes your reality that you live out. We all have a jihad going on—whether we know it or not.

Well, that’s a big subject too, and not where I want to go right now.

I have mentioned to you before that because my life is so busy, the only time I seem to have to “pray” (outside of our time together in the drum groups) is after I work out, after the hot tub, and as I dive into the cold pool. I swim to shallow end of the pool, and hope that no one calls the police because there is strange man on his knees, water up to his chin, eyes closed, humming and doing vague dance-like gestures. I have jokingly told Chris Bremer that this is where I receive my “revelations.”

I sent a piece to you last week that was a meditation on Mary, and how maybe we are all called to become open to the divine, to let it plant something of itself in us, to gestate it and birth it through our bodies. This week’s drum will pick up on that theme.

Here was the Hot Tub Revelation I received this week: What if Mary had said “no”? What if, when God came to her and said” “You’re in luck! You’re going to give birth to the incarnation of the divine creator of All,” she said: “Nope. Not me.” The other side of the question might be: “How many women did God have to approach before one said “yes”?

My theology claims that the divine calls to each of us—constantly calls us to open ourselves to that Presence which helps us put our worries, our actions, our fears, and our hopes into a larger perspective. It seems to me the essence of a spiritual life is to become open to something that supports your ability to look at your life from outside your own human limitations, to help you release fears and anxieties, and that helps you gain the courage to make choices out of love or wisdom.

And this is where the north, where “battle” comes in. Or maybe not battle exactly, but more accurately: sacrifice. Sacrifice is an essential element of spirituality. This is clearly true when we consider the “inner battle.” Each of us will have a different sacrifice to make.

What do we sacrifice, or battle? Those forces that keep us comfortably safe from the presence of the divine. In the biblical tradition the word is often “wealth,” which I read as a code word for whatever makes you comfortable and increases your inertia. Mary had to sacrifice her social standing (an unmarried woman in the ancient world, pregnant: this is a very large thing). She had to sacrifice her hopes for a normal, middle class life. The wise men certainly must have looked dumb to some people—walking across the life-threatening desert, taking their wealth to offer to an anonymous baby in a manger. Their wives, their relatives, their friends—certainly people were embarrassed at this ludicrous act of bizarre faith. How many other kings did Balthazar visit, asking them to come with him across the desert? Only two joined him. Can you hear the laughing in town as the kings vanish east across the sand dunes?

Read any spiritual biography—of mythic characters like Mary, Jesus, Buddha, or of real people like Mother Teresa—and you will find sacrifice. You will find people who connect saying yes to the divine with saying yes to sacrificing their comfort.

Let me use myself as an example: When I swim to the shallow end of the pool to close my eyes, pray, and hum and gesture, I need to sacrifice a few things in order to enter that place—the place where I receive the revelation. Among other things, I must sacrifice my comfortable place as a non-weird man, just here to cool down. I have to sacrifice my skepticism about the Spirit. I must sacrifice my doubt about my abilities to receive wisdom. These things make me comfortable—I don’t really have great desire to appear weird; I’d rather just cool down. It is easier for me to be skeptical, and to talk in abstract, academic terms about the divine than it is to give that up and start humming and gesturing in order to invite it into me (or out of me). It’s much more comfortable for me to think of myself as a guy who has read a bunch of books and so can blab about theology than to think of myself a human capable of receiving Hot Tub Revelations.

I hope it is clear that what I am saying is: there is a direct relationship between the depth of your spiritual journey and your willingness to sacrifice the things that keep you comfortably at home. No one but you (and Spirit) can identify what needs to be sacrificed, or how the sacrifice must be carried out.

And that is the theme of this Friday’s drum.

It is lovely, oh lovely

We turn our eyes to the north

The frozen earth

The defense against the dark

The silence between the dreams.

Arise in me, and pour forth from me

Thou strength of the north.

Jaime

© 2005  Jaime Meyer

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