Shining Spirit

In my faith tradition there is a thing called a “movable feast”.  Sounds strange, doesn’t it?

A movable feast, as contrasted to a fixed feast, is an observance in the church’s calendar which occurs on different dates in different years..thus, movable.  The observance won’t be on the same date every year because the calendar changes.  So there you have it.

Easter, Palm Sunday, Pentecost, among many other observances, are examples of movable feast times.

But today I declare that I am a movable feast because this morning I joined several friends to cook a meal for a local shelter that provides lodging for homeless men.  My job in the cooking routine is to stand at the huge stove and cook big tubs of meat mixed with onions, green peppers, beans, lots of chili powder, some corn and a smattering of other exotic ingredients.  The final meat mixture is then combined with steaming rice, wrapped carefully in large containers and delivered to the shelter for the evening meal.

I’ve noticed, though, that when driving home after the meal preparation I carry with me the lingering aroma of onions and all the other spicy ingredients.  You should see the looks I get if I decide to make a shopping stop before taking a shower at home.   Stray dogs follow me down the sidewalk.  I am a walking, movable feast!  I guess that’s not so bad, however, because  in my faith tradition there is also the encouragement to become “bread for the world”, to provide nourishment for people in need, and to feed those who are hungry.  To do those things is our highest calling, not just to believe the right things and say the right words.  But it occurs to me that my movable feast fragrance might be offensive to some people.  At least that’s the way it seems when glances come my way at the hardware store before getting home to the shower.   I wonder why some people are offended and others seem not to be?  Maybe there’s a hint out of the faith tradition again – those who are fed, filled and satisfied sometimes breathe in life in different ways than those who are hungry and have no prospect of a daily meal. Strange, isn’t it, how one’s senses are dulled by plenty and sharpened by poverty.  Sadly strange how the smell of onions and peppers sometimes offends the nourished but delights the neglected.

Perhaps, instead of delivering the meal to the shelter and then driving to my comfort zone, I need to make my hardware stop in that particular part of town — better yet, maybe I need to take some individual servings of that fragrant meal in the back of my van.  Here comes the Movable Feast.

Some of my friends carry very heavy loads, things that are almost unbearable.  A sudden sickness that turns into a constant and long term battle; a financial reversal that shakes all securities; a loss that cripples the emotions and drains what little energy is available.  You have friends like that, too.

Someone said to me once, through tears and anguish, “if I could only go back in time.  If it could only be the way it used to be.”  I’ve never met anyone who has those options, but too many of us live in the deadening grip of that wishful fantasy.  The tight grip of “if only I could be the way I used to be” punishes us, distracts us from living, and causes us to wake up in the morning still longing for what used to be, still hoping for some reversal of reality, and still captive to fear or remorse or regret.

And, saddest of all, The Grip blinds us to the wonder of life still in our midst and still trying to get our attention.

My response to my friend was “you can never be what you were, but you don’t have to be what you are.”  There is yet a choice, and that choice..as the Sacred Word suggests..is to “choose life.”  Love over despair.  Now over then.  This moment with all its potential over that moment with all its pain.

I wish I had a magic wand to give my friend or a pill that might erase yesterday and shine healing light on today.   I don’t, but I know it’s true.  You can never be what you were…that’s gone.  But you don’t have to be what you are…the victim of yesterday.  Choose life.

Flip a coin.  Draw straws.  Check your horoscope.  How do you make decisions?

The pressure is on us all to buy things because that’s the way our economy works.  The more I spend and buy, the better the overall economy.  At least that’s what I’m led to believe.  But what I do is end up buying things I really don’t need.  I may want it, but I don’t need it.  That doesn’t stop me, though, and so I make the ill-informed, emotional decision to spend money for the newest edition of this or the latest version of that.  My decisions are influenced by pretty pictures and phony promises.  I’m the joy of Madison Avenue…and I’m tired of it.

I think most of us make decisions to satisfy three particular areas of our lives.  The first is Ego.  The second is Altruism.  And the third is Personal Gain.  When I analyze my own reasons for doing the things I do, trying to be as honest as possible, I discover that my ego often demands a hand in the game…is this going to make me look good or bad?   Or, that my desire to be helpful is made at the cost of others’ welfare…my family or loved ones.   Or,  that I calculate how the choice is going to put more coins in my pocket…is this going to benefit me financially or emotionally?  I’m not saying that Ego, Altruism, and Gain are bad things; they just get out of balance and lead me down some regrettable paths that might have been avoided if I had some mechanism or method for making thoughtful, better informed decisions.

So here’s what I’m going to do.

 I’ve decided to take a deep breath and ask myself three questions before making important decisions.  The first is “Is this the right thing to do?”  The second, “Am I doing this for the right reasons?”   And, “Is this the right time to make this decision?”  The right thing, for the right reasons, at the right time.  And, yes, I know that some standard has to define the “right” – whether that standard is ethical considerations, or philosophical concepts, or spiritual beliefs.  Mine happens to be the last one, so I will ask those three questions against the background of my spiritual foundations.  Is this potential decision consistent with the principles of my spiritual understanding…it is the right thing?  Am I about to make this decision for reasons that contradict or undermine those beliefs…is the reason appropriate?  And, is this decision coming at a time that will most support or fulfill those foundational beliefs or is it ill-timed, better considered at a later date…is this really the right time?   No one can say that decision making is always easy, but maybe something like the three questions will help me avoid the regrets of poorly made choices.

It beats flipping a coin.

The knock on the monastery door was loud and decisive.  When the old monk, the gatekeeper, opened the door he found standing before him a middle-aged man dressed in simple but neatly tailored attire.

“I desire to become a monk,” the man announced.  “I have renounced everything I own.  I’ve moved out of my home, my slaves are now the property of a new owner, all my clothes – even the formal robes I used to wear to state dinners – gone.  I am penniless and accept my poverty gladly.  I am ready to become a member of this community.”

“Life is not easy here, my friend,” the old man told him.  “I know, I know,” the inquirer replied, “but I have made a choice to serve the world from my poverty.”

The wise gatekeeper, himself a monk for thirty years, invited the man to pass through the gate, but to sit for a moment with him in the austere courtyard.

“You have made a choice to serve,” repeating the man’s own words.  “Yes, I am ready,” the visitor assured him.  “Very well, I will show you where to change and I will give you your first assignment.  When you have put on the monk’s robe, I want you to clean the latrines over there in the corner, taking care to scrub them carefully.  They haven’t been cleaned in a while so there is an urgent need.”

There was a  long silence as the newly arrived monk-to-be studied the old man’s face, then the latrines across the courtyard, then the man’s face again.  “Who, me?  You want me to scrub the latrines?  Isn’t that the work of those who take care of the monastery for us?  Surely you can make such an assignment to one of them.”

The old man’s three word response was wrapped in a soft, gentle smile.

“We are ‘them'”.

It has been said that there is a huge difference between the choice to serve and the choice to be a servant.  When I choose to serve, writes Richard Foster, I am still in charge.  I decide what’s worthy of our serving, whom I will serve, and a time that is most convenient.  But when I choose to be a servant, I give up the right to be in charge.  The choice to serve is often wedged into a list of important priorities.  Being a servant, though, is a style of living, a willingness to become both available and vulnerable.

To choose to serve.  To choose to be a servant.  It’s not an easy choice.