The Fragrance that Draws Us In

June 22nd, 2024 | Click to Comment

The largest lavender plant I’ve ever seen is blooming beside my front porch this summer. Most of my mature plants are about ten inches tall. But this year one of them shot out stalks three or four feet long in every direction, like a botanical version of spherical fireworks. Each is tipped by a slender cone of buds opening into tiny purple flowers.

From early morning until twilight the blossoms attract bumblebees. They land heavily, bouncing at the ends of the long stalks like reverse bungee jumpers. The bees tolerate the thrill ride for the sake of lavender pollen and nectar, precious food for a nest located somewhere over the roof and beyond. Today, one of the bees is weighted with two full pollen baskets. They look like little orange balls attached to the bee’s hind legs—nature’s original cargo pants. It’s almost always four bees—for days, even weeks now, four bees at a time bobbing among the lavender stalks. The same four? I wonder.

Bumblebee with a full pollen sack

I enjoy taking my morning coffee onto the porch, breathing the scent of lavender and observing the bees sampling bloom after bloom. In recent days I’ve watched them with a grieving friend on my mind. I wish I could make life into something that holds the sense of the purpose and beauty and peace of this small garden spot. My friend knows suffering, from long years of heartache and loss as mental illness and addiction claimed this child she loved. Even so, the death her child, of anyone’s child, at any age, is too much, whatever the circumstances. The heartbreak this world contains is terrible.

I have so little to offer her, but decide I could cut some of these enormous stalks to make a generous lavender wand, weaving prayers along with the ribbons and stems. As I work, the scent of lavender wafts not only from the flowers, but leaves and stems as well. The lavender-scented air fills my breath and my thoughts; I imagine the pleasure taken by the bees in simply navigating by this perfume.

We’re all following the fragrance that draws us in. We are compelled by what attracts us, and by what we believe we need. The natural instincts of the bees lead them to the life-giving nectar and nourishment of a flower on a swaying stem. The instincts of the human psyche are rarely so simple and pure. What we cling to and what we resist often distort our sense of what we must have. Recognizing the fragrance of what is truly life-giving, and following it to the source, is the work of a lifetime.

What can we learn from the bees? They bury themselves in the blossoms for a moment then move on, their transitory bliss part of a larger pattern. They take their fill and buzz off toward the nest, returning from their explorations with something of value. They never forget that they’re part of a larger colony. They follow the scent of the flowers, and still they remember how to find their way home.

We humans have the freedom to choose what to put in our pollen baskets. If our choices are to be life-giving, we need discernment and sometimes help. Through some mysterious interplay of strength and humility, discipline and grace, we generally learn to delight in what brings life. Through wisdom we come to know our place in the larger pattern of things. Through the leading of the heart we learn to navigate by love. And I trust that even when we leave these gifts unopened, the greater love holding all of us will find a way to carry us home.

Susan Christerson Brown

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Claiming and Letting Go

November 7th, 2023 | Click to Comment

I’m learning that there’s an important discernment to be made about when it’s time to claim something and when it’s time to let it go. Another pair for Ecclesiastes. We do what we can to make things work, to play our part, to live well and care for others, but the outcome is out of our hands. This is true in love and work, art and politics, small projects and major endeavors.  

A photo taken as I was leaving my polling place after voting today

Life teaches us about differentiating between what is and is not our work to do; it accomplishes this by placing people and circumstances firmly outside our control. We can do harm to ourselves and others when we go flinging ourselves against what is. While the deepest desire of our heart can be a guiding star for our lives, our more casual or conditioned wants are a burden. Many of our ideas about how things ought to be bring more pain than guidance.  There’s a difference to discern between acting on our preferences and the right action to take.

Our habits of attention and patterns of emotion narrow our vision and cause us to focus on what distresses us. These habits create thorns that we believe indicate that something is terribly wrong and must be addressed. Our automatic way of moving through the world creates urgent problems to solve, and we believe that if we have agency at all we must solve them. We can’t see or feel anything else until that thorn is removed.

What we don’t realize is that we choose to prick ourselves with those thorns. The pain we put ourselves through is neither necessary nor helpful. We have the power to place our attention somewhere else, and to live differently.

Letting go is the practice that allows us to find out what is essential and what we’ve manufactured through our habits and conditioning. We develop our preferences and expectations over a lifetime, but when we make them a requirement for happiness these inclinations become a prison.

Letting go of who we think other people should be, and what we think should happen, is a lifetime learning project. And life helps us with it, showing us over and over again that people will be who they are and things will happen as they happen.

Our agency doesn’t extend to controlling people or events, yet we do have agency. Acting not from our habitual patterns but from our essential being—the higher, wiser Self who can see clearly what’s needed—is how we can act most effectively for good. Acting from this conscious awareness, rather than being driven by unconscious emotions, is the way to be accurately perceptive, genuinely strong, and truly loving.

We might never choose to do the deep work of this kind of discernment, except that life brings experiences of disappointment, pain, and failure that demand a reexamination of what we thought we knew. Over and over again, life invites us to loosen our grip on who we believe we are and what we believe matters. As we accept this invitation, the world grows larger than the parameters of our preferences. We realize that we don’t always know what’s best for us, and learn to hold less tightly to what we thought we wanted. And in the process, we come to see ourselves as part of a mystery more vast and beautiful than our smaller self could have ever imagined.  

Susan Christerson Brown

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The Water We’re Drinking

January 13th, 2021 | Click to Comment

We have few sources of cool, clear water to drink from in these days of upheaval. They’re found mostly in those rare places where friendship, love, and community have carved a basin. This is where water from the deep springs can pool.

The trustworthy holding and acceptance, the reminders of what we know but might have forgotten, the respite of a place safe enough to think and process and grieve together—these gatherings sustain me. This water gives me life.

We all need that sustenance. Yet there are toxic pools where people gather in their longing for community, for belonging. There are poisoned wells, watering the ugly desire to vanquish and overrun.  

Almost a year ago Carl Bernstein spoke of a “cold civil war.” It describes the state of our country. We’re living a clash of world views, of values. It feels like a siege.

The battle we didn’t want is here. It poses the question of who is best supplied, not just with material provisions, but with ideas and vision. Who has the fortitude to see clearly and respond appropriately, with strength and wisdom? Who invites others to join in a life-affirming movement.?

Fear or Love? That is the choice. Fear has its place. It can show us what needs attention. But it’s a terrible way to live. It limits our vision and our choices, and constrains our lives. How can we best live from the truth that love makes us free, and fear is a prison? How do we find our way to the water of life?

We need to find strength to live from love; we need the encouragement of others. What are the communities that truly give life? They matter. Find them, if you don’t have them. Hold onto them. Be clear about the water you’re drinking.

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The Better Part

January 29th, 2016 | Click to Comment

I have long wrestled with the story of Mary and Martha* in the gospel of Luke. In my reading, Martha is a worker; Mary is a listener. Martha is active; Mary is contemplative. As the two sisters host Jesus in their home, Martha is busy with the tasks of running a household while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet absorbing his teaching. Martha is angry about doing all the work herself, and insists that Jesus have Mary help out with the chores.

Mary and Martha with Jesus, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin

I understand Martha. It takes work to keep a household or anything else running smoothly. Martha wants to offer the finest hospitality to this amazing teacher. Perhaps she would have liked to sit and listen, but it takes work to provide a clean bed and a good meal.

Jesus responds by speaking kindly to her, noticing that she is worried by many things, and offering a different perspective. He points out that the work she thinks is necessary is actually distracting her from what is most important. Whatever standard Martha is trying to meet, it isn’t set by Jesus. He wants her to know that she is made for more than the treadmill she has put herself on. Jesus didn’t show up just to add to her chores.

I understand Mary. She is drawn to the wisdom of this new teacher and the power of his presence. She sets aside her normal activities, recognizing that this is no ordinary guest, and gives him her full attention. Yet following her heart means not living up to others’ expectations for what she should be doing. It’s not easy to disappoint Martha, who doesn’t share Mary’s priorities, and lets Mary know that she’s not doing her part.

Mary and Martha in stained glass, St. Patrick's, Dublin

I have long wished the story would show Jesus inviting Martha to sit down and listen, then have everyone pitch in with the chores.

We all have mundane tasks to do. But it’s important to recognize what merits setting them aside. Jesus refuses to send Mary back to her usual tasks just as she is beginning to hear his life-changing teaching. Mary has chosen the better part, he tells Martha. Jesus doesn’t want us doing more chores, he wants us to be transformed.

Mary and Martha both live inside me. There’s nothing wrong with Martha wanting to get the job done. The world is in need of a great deal of work. But the world needs Martha to lend her strength and skill to the most important tasks. In a world of “shoulds,” how to discern what truly is the better part is a question always before us. We need Mary and her ability to recognize what is genuinely life-giving.

Carl Jung offers an insight regarding his patients’ growth that applies to the tension between Mary and Martha:

All the greatest and most important problems of life are fundamentally insoluble . . . They can never be solved, but only outgrown. This “outgrowing” proved on further investigation to require a new level of consciousness. Some higher or wider interest appeared on the patient’s horizon, and through this broadening of his or her outlook the insoluble problem lost its urgency. It was not solved logically in its own terms but faded when confronted with a new and stronger life urge. (as quoted by Matthew Fox in Original Blessing)

We need both Mary and Martha, not in opposition but in a complementary partnership. We need a higher level of awareness that incorporates them both. I like to think of Martha spinning a cocoon, Mary yielding to the transformation that happens within it, and through the work of the Spirit, a new creation emerging into the world.

 

*The text of the story is brief, found in Luke 10:38-42. Here it is, in its entirety:

Now as they went on their way, [Jesus] entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

 

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The Volunteer Blues – What Work is Worth Doing?

November 13th, 2010 | 2 Comments

The world rests on work that happens outside the realm of work for hire. Family life, civic and religious life, community life of all kinds would disintegrate without it. Society benefits richly from the people and organizations bolstered by such work, but most of the rewards for doing it are strictly internal.

The dedication, creativity, and strength required to raise a family or tend a volunteer organization are unrecognized in economic terms. The work of counselor, organizer, or visionary is valued in the marketplace but seldom acknowledged, much less rewarded, outside of it. Even our president was dismissed and derided by some for his time working as a “community organizer.”

In a world that measures worth by paycheck and position, it seems miraculous that people give so much of themselves to monumental effort that is economically worthless and socially invisible. There may be some intrinsic payoff, but a great deal of the work is anything but rewarding—at least in the short term. Yet they, we, choose to do it. Amazing.

Responsible people take on difficult situations in all kinds of contexts, many of which are frustrating, unpleasant, and hurtful. “It’s part of the job,” they say, acknowledging the balance of good and bad that is part of their position and livelihood. But when the “job” has no pay, no cumulative value as professional experience, and little or no appreciation, it’s hard to maintain that equanimity.

Martyrdom in the service of anything less than the ultimate good seems to me like wasted life. And much of the time it’s hard to know what such an ultimate good would be. But when there’s a choice about what work to do, it makes sense to exercise some discernment about that choice.

I love Bob Dylan’s song, “You Gotta Serve Somebody.” He tells us “It may be the Devil, or it may be the Lord, but you’ll have to serve somebody.” It’s true, but then there’s the problem of figuring out which is which.

What really, truly counts as working for the greater good? What is the measure of good work? What is worth serving? These aren’t rhetorical questions. This week, I really don’t know.

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