Sometimes a question of great importance is asked of us. When working with seniors on retreat last week, I channeled Mary Oliver and asked, “What is it that you plan to do with your one, wild and precious life?”
At turning points of significance: leaving school, graduation, deciding to get married, choosing a career, changing jobs, moments of profound loss or disillusionment, or that rare windfall of great opportunity, I have felt that life was asking an important question of me. Discerning what exactly I being asked was the challenge.
Sometimes, asking the question, is what we are called to do. In the ancient Grail Myth, the hero, Parsifal’s task was to ask the question. As a young man, he failed to ask and as a result, spent the rest of his life searching.
I like Krista Tippett’s assertion that “questions elicit answers in their likeness”.
I am continuing to think that this COVID moment, pivot, or turning point, is both asking significant questions of us, and providing us the opportunity to ask our own question. My question may be quite different to yours.
What is it? What is your question at this moment? Asking it may define what’s next.
The newsreader said that COVID restrictions had been eased. We could relax and move about, even gather in groups. But social distancing was still necessary. The various levels of isolation, were harder for some than for others, and not just because of the level of restrictions mandated.
In our highly extraverted world, where constant frenetic activity, outputs, results, achievements and definite answers have been the generally accepted norm, many assumed that this was simply the way of the world. COVID caused a pivot, or turning point. Perhaps pondering and asking questions is more useful to us at this moment?
This week, I began some formation work with teachers by asking them what they learnt from COVID and 2020. Some responded that employers discovered that they could trust their workers to work from home. Some observed that they missed contact with those that they love. Some said that living with uncertainty was a new experience and demanded a different mindset from the usual. Perhaps what resonated most deeply was learning that we are vulnerable.
Gently holding this insight reveals that not only are we vulnerable, it is an illusion to ever think that we are not vulnerable. Its easier not to think about it and just get on with life, work, family and “the whole catastrophe” (as Zorba the Greek would say).
In this wonderful “wide, brown land down under” the heat and drought which led to 2019’s devastating and wide-spread bushfires, forced us to think about ourselves in our physical world – a relationship under significant stress.
2020 forced us to think about how we move and connect in the world. We found that we had to think about how we worked, how we keep connected and what really matters.
There seems to be a pattern here. I wonder if 2019 & 2020 were preparation for what is coming next.? Not necessarily for the specifics of what is coming, we just might be being prepared for more changes in how we relate and connect to each other, and how we relate, connect and move through our world.
If so, what we have learnt over the last year or two could prove to be invaluable.
What did COVID and 2020 teach you? What did you learn?
After doing the afternoon Kindy pickup, I was sitting in the garden with my, four and a half year old, grandson. I asked him about his day, what he did at Kindy. “Nothing. I just played”, he replied.
Formation is very effective. It needs to be ongoing, intentional and effortful. It can be as simple as noticing what nourishes and sustains us and taking the time to be blessed by it. The silver lining of having the “normal” routines and practices disrupted is having a few moments each day just to sit and be.
I was listening to a radio interview about the possibilities trying to emerge in a reformed a post-COVID world. The thought that the present difficulties may be the labour pains of a more wonderful society coming to birth, fascinates me. It seems that the difficulties of 2020 have very many people wrestling with the questions, “What is it all about?” “What really matters?” and “What is truly worthy of my efforts?”
It is not just philosophers who are wrestling with these big questions. Having to slow down, operate in a frequently changing social dynamic, and negotiate the uncertainties, have so many people both thinking and talking about these “Matters of Great Importance”. All we need is a guide.
In 1321, poet Dante’s guide led him to “see now how the light that never ends shines in your mind: light which seen to appear, alone and always kindles love” (Divine Comedy, Canto 5, trans. Clive James).
Asking, and wrestling with, the right questions is indeed enlightening. It is what Formation is all about.
I spend a lot of time with my grandchildren and I love it. I also spend a lot of time in my garden or walking on my beautiful mountain top. All of these things get me thinking.
I find myself regularly returning to Viktor Frankl’s idea of “Life Circle”. He said that how well we (ful-)fill our specific “life circle”, determines our meaning and purpose.
It occurred to me that my "life circle" is a lot smaller in reach than when I was Assistant Principal of a prestigious high school of 1000 kids. Back then, it was always easy for me to be mindful of the significance and meaning of my (life’s) work because of the reach, scope and consequences for the unfolding lives in my charge. I was always grateful for having such noble and profound work. I loved it. Although the stress of it often got to me, and as much as I knew success, I always harboured doubts about my efficacy, regardless of the affirmations.
As a “hands on” grandpa of two very young boys, my life circle is a lot smaller, but as I have come to realise, no less significant. Frankl says what matters is how well we fulfil our specific circle, rather than the greatness of the radius of our actions. This is what gives meaning to our existence.
Before my consultancy with school staffs came to an end with the COVID shutdown and isolation, I regularly began by half-jokingly saying that my life working in schools with thousands of kids was prefect preparation for being a grandpa. I think Frankl’s idea of Life Circle and its affect on meaning and significance, has clarified this for me.
Being an Assistant Principal and spending much of my life working with thousands of kids, really was the right preparation for being a grandpa. Formation involves different approaches in the ongoing journey of discerning what life is calling each of us to as we grow and evolve.
How's your "life circle"? One silver lining of the present moment, is the opportunity to review, reflect and discern what your life is calling you to fulfil.
Philosopher, Eric Hoffer, saw that unlike the perfection he saw in nature, humans remained “permanently unfinished”. We are always a “work in progress”. I like the image used by both the philosophical John Dewey and the theologian Karl Rahner who labeled each of us as “unfinished symphonies”.
Life at times can seem a little discordant. As we largely have no script for the particular complexities of our time and circumstances, it is important to intentionally take time to slow down and reflect on what we are doing and how this affects what we are becoming.
A cardiac professor demonstrating a procedure told his students “at this point in the operation, you have only 60 seconds, to tie off the artery, or the patient will die. He then added, “This is why, you must slow down and take your time”.
Formation is the process of exercising deliberate attention to what we do in alignment with who we are, and what we are becoming. In chaotic, stressful and uncertain times, it might seem like a luxury. It is not a luxury. It is essential. It is about taking responsibility for our unfinished symphonies.
In 2004, I spent a week at the Fetzer Institute in Kalamazoo, Michigan, thanks to the generosity of the Sisters of Chariry (RSC). While there, I caught up with a dear friend made new friends who I soon recognised as kindred spirits. On different levels the time was rich and rewarding.
In one of our last sessions, Joel Elkers, a retired professor Johns Hopkins spoke briefly. He spoke of losing his family in the holocaust while he was overseas, studying to be a doctor. He said that he had learned that “If the darkness is coming, we will all need to learn how to garden in the dark”. These words were so obviously profound that they were met with silence and reverence.
Over the years, I have randomly recalled these words and pondered their meaning, always thinking that I was missing something. Covid19 and the unraveling that accompanied it has been like “darkness descending“ for much of the world. In recent weeks I have become aware that many people I know, have taken to gardening with the opportunity this uncluttered time has given them. This in turn, has pointed me to reflect further.
In the richly blessed land of Australia, forewarning, shutdown and isolation meant that we “dodged a bullet” and did not suffer Covid19 like Italy, Spain, New York and many other places. The current challenge is to recognise this with ongoing gratitude. They danger is that we think that it wasn’t a big deal after all.
It is awesome to think of the enormity of what could have so easily happened and appreciate that it did not happen. To be honest, I remain “in the dark” regarding the true immensity of this.
My grandson is right, “we Never stop learning”. At this point the question pressing us is how do we put our new learnings, and perspectives, to good use? The greater good has been waiting for us and the right moment. What is being revealed needs us to be present and to participate. We cannot, must not, underestimate this.
My grandson, who will turn four in a couple of months, impressed me with something he had learned to do. I expressed my delight and he told me, quite seriously, “Papa did you know that you NEVER stop learning?” “Yes, I know that. I am still learning new things all the time”, I replied.
Pondering this, a memory surfaced from 1998 and my sabbatical in Turkey. It was just before three in the afternoon. I was wandering the streets, looking, smelling aromas, marvelling at ancient buildings and streets of the Sultan Ahmet district in Istanbul. It was relatively quiet. I was becoming quite adept at avoiding carpet sellers, but I looked up at a man standing in a doorway.
“You are a teacher”, he said more as a statement than as a question. “I beg your pardon?”, I responded. “You are a teacher”, he said again. “How did you know?”, I asked.
He answered that “Many people come for souvenirs or to take photos. Some people come to see things. But teachers are always learning something”. He continued, “I watched you walk up the street and I could see that you are learning, trying to understand”. I hadn’t realised this until he spoke. I was so absorbed in the wonder of these ancient streets and I was lost in curiosity. In fact, I was so distracted by my curiosity that I really didn’t know exactly where I was.
We spoke for about twenty minutes or so. We drank tea and I asked him how to get back to my motel because I wasn’t sure exactly where I was. He laughed and said, “Only a good teacher isn’t afraid of getting lost when learning something”. He pointed me home and we parted. In the years since, I have delighted in watching my students lose themselves when absorbed by ideas. The carper seller taught me that my role was not to provide the answer, but make it safe for them to get lost in the wonder of learning.
As the Buddha taught, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. This thought is fascinating when held with my grandson’s assertion that we never stop learning. Whether it’s a carpet seller in a far off land, a good book, an interaction, or three months of COVID isolation, the teacher appears. We just may have learned something worth learning in the process.