 By Brooke Maffia Wang
“The second people felt alone… usually in the space between things— leaving a therapy session, at a red light, standing in a checkout line, riding the elevator— they picked up devices and ran away from that feeling. In a state of perpetual distraction, they seemed to be losing the ability to be with others and losing their ability to be with themselves.” — Lori Gottlieb, Maybe You Should Talk To Someone The buzz and awkward social exchanges were palpable in the theater of a thousand-ish people who had just placed their cell phones in an unassuming green pouch that locked for the next two and half hours. It was a requirement to see Bruno Mars live in Las Vegas. Right of center stage, in the front row of the balcony, at the MGM park theater we all erupt to our feet. The fiercely dressed young black couple to my left, my Asian husband in his tired Nike’s next to me, and the balding white man in is 50’s decking his Hawaiian shirt that barely covered his pot belly— who had already started dancing before the music began. Bruno is hands down an extremely talented entertainer. However, what made this experience powerful, and more than a concert, was the collective positive moment of human connection and presence he invited us strangers into. He set us up to be able to receive the gift of being in the present moment. Each from different places in life, but we were there together. We felt the thump in our chest, let the energy move our bodies, and lived in real time. We savored as it penetrated our ears and hearts. Fascinating that Bruno had effectively shifted the collective focus of this group of strangers (and let’s be honest, spiked some anxiety) before he even taken the stage. Beauty, connection, presence, delight and so much more were created by this generous exclusion. The phone and all it connects me with did not get to be in this space, but what was received by setting this boundary, by being present to the moment, was so valuable. What if connecting and practicing presence in today’s world has something to do with embracing those moments of awkward, uncomfortable, slow spaces? What potential lies in the spaces that can easily be labeled waste? Maybe it’s not your cell phone, but what are your instinctive responses when you feel alone or in transition spaces? Is there a place you could practice generous exclusion to invite more presence and connection? A boundary you could practice to help you show up to the present moment just a bit more or in a new way? This week may your ears and heart be penetrated and your body moved as you attend and savor the beautiful that crosses your path.  By Diane Pate
Recently my husband and I visited Alaska. Since one of our stops was Skagway, a friend asked me to look up the little church where her brother had pastored for thirteen years. It was a beautiful sunny day and the church was easy to find. After all, Skagway had only three or four main streets. The location was stunning. Everything was green and the town was surrounded by spectacular mountains. Kids were riding bikes on the streets and children were playing in one yard we passed. It seemed idyllic and we felt envious of this pastor. It was only after exploring the town and talking to locals, that we came to realize that sunny days were an exception. It was dark, stormy and cold most of the year. There was only one small, very expensive market and the town was extremely isolated. How did this man and his family remain for thirteen years? As my friend has talked about her brother over the years, one thing I have noticed about him is that he has said yes to the invitation to a shared life with others. This is one of the great lessons we can learn from monastic communities as well. Monks who enter a monastery take a vow of stability that grounds them in certain places for life. While most of us are not called to remain in one space for life, we all would do well to follow the spiritual practice of a commitment to stability. Contemplative life is not a solo enterprise. In a commitment to stability, we withstand the disturbances and annoyances of others for the sake of union with God and union with each other. For some of us, this may well mean a deep rootedness to one place and community. This commitment to stability is no easy task. Choosing to remain for the long haul in our transient culture can be a modern-day miracle, as in the case of this Alaskan paster. But we all are called to remain connected with others, especially in moments of conflict, tension and anxiety. In the contemplative practice of spiritual direction, the goal is beholding, but not only a beholding of God; we also need to be beholding each other. In light of this spiritual practice of commitment to stability where do you sense God’s invitation? How have you practiced stability in the past? How has it affected your life? |