Divine Letters - tea stained and creased but read them!

 

Should we claim spiritual insight or clarity due to birthright, experience, or education?

Gosh no!

Is there some special mental skill or knack that enhances our spiritual capacity?

Gosh no!

Is there something of value to be found in our own words that will engender internal change or growth?

Gosh no!

Do we encounter souls that allow us to learn from their insights, skills, and experience?

Gosh yes!

When we listen with heart and mind to the lessons wrought from lives, honed by their unique path in life, do we feel the possibilities of change within ourselves?

Gosh yes!

It is said that every person we meet is a letter from the divine. Some creased, written covered in tea stains, worn over time from repeated handling with last-minute additions scribbled in the margin. When encountering any soul find something of worth within. Some wisdom they have gained from suffering or from actions they have undertaken in service to others. Even if you find them bereft of every gift normally given to a human, destitute of personal graces or material means draw close and ask them about their life’s journey. Are such lessons from the poor and humble infinitely better than the prattling of the powerful and the rich?

Gosh yes!

Does the quality of any letter depend on its letterhead, embossed in gold with a fancy address and ornate seal?

Gosh no!

Somewhere in the grace of listening, we grow in empathy and awareness. Cynical analysis will not suffice only kindly acceptance befits the listener. Can progress result?

Gosh Yes!

Should we be grateful to these letters of the divine, hidden in simple garb? 

Gosh yes!

Does the quality of our response to such human letters become a measure of the Divine mercy we ultimately receive?

Gosh yes!

 ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Matthew 25.40

Shouting preachers, spiritual paths

In my childhood it was common to walk down our village street being harangued about the fires of hell. These street preachers would unleash hateful tirades against the passerby. Warning of death, everlasting torment in flames and crow about their seat in heaven being dusted and ready for them. The best of them would give a personal statement of their faith. This would usually involve a tale of woe. How they’d been a lost soul who drank to excess or took drugs, stole, committed adultery, lied and generally lived a life far from common standards of decency. They would then recount their own “road to Damascus” experience (will that phrase ever feel the same after this year in Syria?) They would describe how they had been a sinner and lost before becoming saved and joining the righteous. This salvation meant they had already booked their place in heaven. Not by deeds but by faith, they would shout.

As a child walking beside my mother, I felt no end of grievances against these proud characters. Having not yet had a chance to break many of the 10 Commandments it felt wrong to be berated by someone who had. An inverse of “let those without sin throw the first stone”. I wanted to enter into discussion with these perpetrators along the lines of Socrates. Plato describes a typical Socrates discussion with two Athenian generals about courage. Under Socrate’s questioning the generals finally admitted they no longer even understood what bravery meant. 

Not that I would've been equipped at all for such a debate. However, the longing to respond was ever in my heart. Invariably, I was told to be quiet and to keep up with my mother. The civil thing to do, it seemed, in the face of  demonic threats in the street was to walk past and ignore it. To act as if none of this was your business. Just keep your head down and keep going. That felt so cowardly to me. Why do individuals like this get to reprimand others, condemn them to hell or judge between the saved and the lost? I never liked that their idea of religion seem to consist in an abundance of hate and a deep satisfaction that most of us were bound for hell.

It has left me wanting to be silent on anything spiritual.  I would hate to make anyone I spoke to, feel as I did growing up in Northern Ireland. The idea of berating or belittling someone on the basis of their Faith appals me. Yet, I'm so interested in discussions on faith. This life after all is a spiritual journey, at its essence. Even atheists would agree that gaining virtues, principles, insights and aspiring to leave this world slightly better as a result of your presence is worthwhile.  

Socrates said :”[Man] is always becoming a new being and undergoing a process of loss and reparation, which affects ... his soul as well. No man's character, habits, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, and fears remain always the same; new ones come into existence and old ones disappear.”

Around us are thousands of individuals who have already learned so much on their journey. Wouldn’t it be beneficial to discuss such things. Listen to what life has wrought in them. Be humble enough not to impose but absorb the insights they have gained. Strangely such conversations are often fraught. People will happily discuss the best car to invest in, their favourite team, their politics, their recent holiday, the programs they watch, but when the conversation is turned to spiritual or moral topics a veil can descend. As a cousin of mine so venomously snarled, ‘Get your hands of my soul” to an enquiry from an evangelistic neighbour. Discussions about religion can easily descend into arguments and heated exchanges. Neither of these is conducive to spiritual growth.

Is it self satisfaction or pride that blinds us to learning from others. Is it a fear of change or a desire to blindly imitate what we are familiar with at all costs?

Yet, when I have managed to have a conversation on prayer with a Muslim, a Christian or a Buddhist it has always been illuminating.  Not that one agrees with all one hears but that sacred space being shared is usually a positive experience. A Hindu friend spoke of as a child celebrating holy days in their community in Leicester. It involved her Indian mother baking huge cakes for the old people’s homes in their neighbourhood. That desire to do something kindly for the community was so ingrained in her as a child that 30 years later she found herself following her mother's example. She spoke of bringing boxes of cakes from her car and remembering her mother's presence so powerfully. My friend said, “Perhaps I do it in her name? I'm not sure why, but it makes me feel closer to her”. Another Muslim friend talked about waking every day to the sound of his father’s prayers filling their home. He felt blessed to be wakened by this call to God. He explained, “The word of God has a potency that influences those around us and can generate transformation”. When I discussed meditation with a Buddhist friend they spoke of how prayer to them was a calling out to God whereas silent meditation allowed a space to listen. He pointed out for him “in that stillness I discover the state of my own heart”. The agnostics I have met have often walked a practical spiritual path that is breathtaking. Focusing on deeds of service rather than acquiring any spiritual station they have sometimes managed to combine humility with magnanimous action. This they do, not on the weekly basis for the Sunday service but daily and even hourly with relentless integrity. There is much to learn from them.

Perhaps if we could have gathered round that shouting preacher we would've discussed spiritual pride and its disastrous consequences. Or the need not to judge another soul. Or even the fact that each of us is on a peculiar path that is unique.  That, the landscape we have emerged from, at that moment of meeting, is totally different and has shaped a human being we will never encounter the like of again. That, if we have the humility to learn at the feet of others we we may benefit from the windflowers of wisdom they have managed to pluck from their lives.