 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?  By Wendy Lew Toda
Let the sea calibrate me with rhythms lost to my busy soul The wisdom of water speaks distant drum calls echoes from my heart responding to the crash the foamy race up the sand the quiet return remember remember come home be held in this ebb and flow fling my life out to the horizon's edge give it a good shake plenty of room here for the many jumbled thoughts elbowing each other inside my head jostling for attention even they begin to settle as I watch the swells build arc tumble rush to shore and return over and over and over my hurried mind slows grateful for space to wend its way toward peace Gather me into these waves sweet Jesus let my soul find rest in this strength predictable and not in wildness and wonder I am found once more.  By Sharon Wada
In the midst of a social landscape shaped by a covid-19 pandemic, political unrest and continued racial inequity, I find soul rest when someone offers me the gift of “holding space.” What do I mean by “holding space?” Author Heather Plett defines it as “the practice of compassionately witnessing, accepting and supporting someone without judgement, while retaining your boundaries and sense of self.” (The Art of Holding Space, 2020). I find it divinely timely that her book was published in early 2020. For all that we would face and still face, a safe place where someone holds space for another is a soothing balm. It’s a space to be listened to, where one is free to tell one’s story. It is a space where one’s experience, along with its interpretation, gets to occupy center stage. No one tries to talk you out of your views and perceptions. What you say may not resonate with your listener, nor even be intellectually understood, but that doesn’t matter. The listener becomes a conduit of God’s grace, where one feels seen, heard and loved. Prior to 2020, in my collegial circles of spiritual directors, I had heard and used the term, “holding space.” It seemed to be a given that holding space is what spiritual directors are supposed to do. My spiritual director modelled it. It is my intention to do the same with those who come to me for spiritual direction. As the 2020’s decade continues to unfold, it feels all the more impactful and grace-filled to engage the art of holding space. We can do so as spiritual directors. We can do so when we find ourselves in the role of compassionate listener, wherever we may be. When we find ourselves listening to someone whose ethnic heritage and racial history differs from our own, holding space may take a little more effort. It starts to feel like the art would be greatly helped by adding learned skill. We can educate ourselves. We can grow our capacity for self-awareness and emotional regulation. We can choose to set aside our own perspectives so that we can offer a compassionate, listening presence. Spiritual director instructor and author, Cindy S. Lee teaches that we can learn to “de-center” ourselves and become mindful that we have been brought up to assume there is some set of “norms” out in the world, which makes everything else deviant. When we truly hold space for another, we de-center ourselves. We welcome the stories we hear with grace. We offer true soul hospitality. Such a gift. Are there people that come to your mind who have offered you this gift? Anyone you’d like to offer the gift of holding space to? What might be an invitation to add a little skill development the art of holding space?  By Brooke Maffia Wang
A huge smile lit up my face when Brene Brown introduced Esther Perel on the podcast that cycled onto my car speakers. Two of my favorites. It was a fantastic conversation. However, after I noticed envy and comparison begin to nag at me a bit. When I hear skilled people doing things they love that are big and spectacular I can sometimes wonder, “What am I doing? Does compassionate listening with people really make any kind of difference?” It would be highly inappropriate, not to mention unethical, to make a podcast out of spiritual direction sessions. Although, I do love the idea of one off conversations with a spiritual director that others could listen to— if for no other reason but to help give people a felt understanding of the experience. As well as not being understood by many, within the history of the church spiritual direction has a bit of a dark past. This life-giving supportive ministry was lost to some for many years. Today it can be confused with mentoring or discipleship, both fantastic ministries— just different than spiritual direction. Here at the CCSV we believe: Spiritual direction is a form of holy listening and attending to the Spirit of God in daily life. It is an intentional relationship where a trained listener companions with another along the spiritual journey. It is a unique relationship between Director, Directee, and God. Like with anything there is a wide range of abilities, training and skill of spiritual directors. Unfortunately, there are people who hold the title of without living the ethical practice. One reason we exist at the CCSV is to offer a quality of care in this unregulated field. We believe ongoing supervision and personal direction is non-negotiable to those offering spiritual direction-- no matter how many directee’s we have or how long we’ve been practicing. We are forever learners. What we do as spiritual directors is not big and spectacular. It is slow, deep and hidden. It promotes more of God, and less of the director. The envy and comparison the podcast evoked offer me a great opportunity to make an appointment with my supervisor. But, it cannot take away what I know deep in my bones-- that the tender life changing shifts I witness in people souls that bring healing and freedom are no less valuable because they are not seen or heard by the masses. The honor and privilege I feel to sit with others in these vulnerable places is palpable. And, I'm crazy enough to believe that this work of deep compassionate listening is essential for our country and our world to heal and move forward. If you have never tried spiritual direction before, I invite you to reach out to one of our directors. If you had an experience that wasn’t optimal or in a season of life that could be supported by this ministry I invite you to consider trying again. If you are a spiritual director and are looking for support and community along the way I invite you to keep learning with us. |