I succumbed to “psychic numbing” this week, the “emotional distancing” that occurs when you see too many children pulled away from parents, too many war-torn refugees seeking asylum yet denied access to safety and freedom. For me, it also came from too many Supreme Court decisions that serve the cause of Empire rather than that of humanity (and similar decisions that will undoubtedly increase with retirement), too much grieving over the continued demolition of my naïve childhood idealized vision of what America is and stands for, and too much anger at American Christianity—of which I am a part—which has contributed in large measure to this distortion that is our civil religion of individualism, greed and prosperity gospel mentality, and worse, the bastardization of virtually everything the original Jesus-movement promoted and promised.
So, I was hardening, rigidifying, toughening, writing angry screeds about the heartlessness of American Empire and the soullessness of American Christianity (“whited sepulchers” is the description Jesus used). Fortunately, I have practices to sustain heart and soul in hard times, particularly inquiry with friends across the city and country with whom I could share how this experience was impacting me, leading me to recognize once again deep, early-life structures of the soul that still unconsciously inform my reactions and responses: the way, for example, I found it necessary to shut down my heart in my family of origin as a survival tactic that my young soul obviously saw as necessary to accommodate to the normal dysfunction of my family system as well as out of my own unconscious desire to love and protect my parents from what this little soul believed would be further wounding to them if I opened up fully to my aliveness, love and natural compassion.
The result of this past few days’ (weeks? months? years?) struggle is to recognize that I am no longer a young, innocent, helpless soul that must match the prevailing culture in order to survive, be accepted, appear “normal,” or even to be loved. That is to say, I no longer have to give up my heart because others have lost or hardened or closed their own, or drunk the water of culture and society so deeply they have become anesthetized to compassion, connection and the recognition of our “bio-cosmic” nature as humans of Being.
Therefore, I no longer need to toughen up “when the going gets tough,” but can open to even greater vulnerability as a response to cruelty and inhumanity. I’ve worked too long and hard to find and open my sacred heart to close it down now. A former first lady said something to the effect of, “When they go low, we go high.” My version is “When they get tougher, I get softer”—counterintuitive, countercultural, counter-ego syntonic; in fact, so kind of Jesus-like—where divine strength is found in complete vulnerability to the “Love that steers the stars.”
Two pieces I read and keep re-reading this week…
One from Roshi Joan Halifax’s Standing at the Edge: Finding Freedom Where Fear and Courage Meet, describing the way poet Jane Hirshfeld’s life “broke open” upon reading this short poem by tenth-century Japanese poet Izumi Shikibu:
Although the wind
blows terribly here
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house
Joan Halifax comments:
Referring to this poem, Jane related in a talk she gave in 2016, “Wall up your house too well, and you will stay dry, but also stay moonless.” I believe that we have to let life into our lives, let others into our lives, let the world into our lives, let love into our lives, and also let the night into our lives and not let the roof over our heads—our knowing, our fear—keep out the moonlight. Altruism is exactly this permeability, this wall-less wilderness, this broken roof that lets the moonlight flood our ruined house, our suffering world.
The other short piece I keep re-reading is from Mark Nepo’s Things that Join the Sea and the Sky, entitled “Instructions to My Smaller Self:”
When hurt, it’s important to scream. Just don’t pray to the scream. When sad, it’s important to grieve. Just don’t build a kingdom of your loss. When falling through whatever you thought would last, admit, “I’m lost and confused.” Just don’t map the world as lost and confused. And when riding the wave, however it appears, feel the strength in you released. Just don’t believe the strength comes from you alone. But most of all, when listening to others, say, “This may be so.” Then look for yourself at what life is painting with all its colors.
Experts in dealing with psychic numbness, by the way, suggest taking steps that we can take to counter this numbing, this closing off: For example, calling the offices of Congresspeople, who really do note how many constituents express concern about an issue. Or donating to organizations that have knowledge and expertise to tackle issues, like Planned Parenthood, or RAICES (Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services). I intend to participate in the June 30 Families Belong Together Rally 10 am Ohio Statehouse. (First Community Church staff and members can meet with Rev. Kate Shaner, leaving from the South Campus parking lot to carpool at 9:15 a.m. or meet me and Rev. Nicole Havelka at the corner of Broad and High–NW Corner of the Statehouse–at 9:30 a.m.), and I’ll also be attending this Sunday’s 5 pm Gateway Theater showing of “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, the Mister Rogers’ movie, with some Burkhart Center friends, and go out for discussion later. Some of you may also want to attend The Concert for Children at the Border from 3-5 pm this Sunday at North Congregational UCC Church in Columbus, raising funds for RAICES.
Mainly, find ways to keep your heart open and find community, giving you the courage to remain fluid and vulnerable, because the powers and principalities are powerless against the empowered, enlivened human heart and soul.
Shalom,
David
Rev. David Hett is the Spiritual Director of The Burkhart Center
