Prayer and Mediation

I have always had a deep sense of exploration and wonder. I have always felt that there is something greater than me. In the past, I called that something God. God was the Catholic God, the God of the Trinity. God was equal parts loving and fearful. God was infallible and infinite. He was the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega. In order to go to heaven, you needed to accept Jesus into your heart and confess your sins.

As I grew up, the nature of God changed. I began to question the essence and nature of God. It seemed to me that the Catholic God was confusing and contradictory. I wondered how God could tell his followers to love and be compassionate of all and also condemn nonbelievers to hell and eternal suffering.

This confusion made me feel lost. I wanted to know who and what to believe in. Catholicism gave me guideposts in my faith. I knew I was holy because I went to church on Sunday, I prayed before I ate, I read the Bible, I tithed, I taught Sunday school. If I didn’t believe in the Catholic God, what were my actions but hollow? Who was I but a shell?

So I searched. I searched in the Tarot, in science, in Nietzsche, in myself, in leaders I admired, in friends, in nature, in the spaces and places between things. I tried to find the spirituality and faith I once had.

I found many things – beauty, love, respect, humility, vastness, absence, presence, joy, explanations – but I did not find my spirituality. What I once had was eluding me. It was if with every corner I turned my spirit turned the one right ahead of me. I kept getting glimpses of it and yet I never saw it. I was chasing my shadow.

I had to change course. Instead of searching for something outside of myself, something greater than me, I needed to find me. I needed to go deeper inside and see what made, and makes, me tick – how I move about in this world.

I remember my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Bishop. She was an amazing woman with a great sense of wonder. One spring day she told our class about astronomy, but in order to fully grasp it it needed to be dark outside. She told us to meet her in the schoolyard at 8pm that night.

I showed up eager to learn. Mrs. Bishop brought telescopes and a night sky map. It was my first memory of seeing the stars through a telescope, and somehow they didn’t seem so far away. I learned how to find Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper, and the Seven Sisters. Mrs. Bishop made astronomy seem so simple. In order to understand it, you simply needed to pause, observe, and reflect.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized the depth of Mrs. Bishop’s teachings. She wasn’t really teaching about astronomy. Astronomy was just a tool she used to teach us how to learn, explore, and deepen understanding. If we could pause, observe, and reflect on something as vast as the heavens, as space, then we should be able to do it with anything.

My good friend Margaret recently asked me to attend prayer/mediation workshops at her church. Margaret has always welcomed me into her faith. She is a model of letting her spirit speak through her actions. She is a mentor of mine for spiritual growth.

Over the last seven years, Margaret has invited me to various church functions and services, and I have politely turned down most of them. This time, however, something resonated within me. Partly, it was because I wanted/want to walk more intentionally in this world and this opportunity seemed like an excellent way to increase my intentionality. Partly, it was because I was/am no longer angry at the church (Catholic or otherwise). Partly, it was because my fondness for Margaret has grown tremendously and this seemed an excellent way to connect with her on a deeper level. All of these reasons converged and I committed to attending the workshops.

Previously, I would have attended the workshops in search of something outside of myself. This time, I attended the workshops with the focus solely on me – understanding what role prayer and mediation played in my life, in my journey towards leadership. I found myself pausing, observing, and reflecting. I took the lessons I learned – that prayer and meditation are simply a method to focus quietly on intention – and applied it to me. And I found a glimmer of myself. My shadow paused momentarily before running around the next corner.

The prayer/meditation workshops lasted only four sessions, so I needed to find something else that would enable me to pause, observe, and reflect. Another mentor of mine, Kica, co-teaches mediation classes for the San Francisco Buddhist Center. Coincidentally, their next six-week Introduction to Meditation class started the Tuesday after my last prayer/meditation workshop. I signed up.

I had my first class last Tuesday. I went with no expectations. I had written my first blog entry the same day, so I was really focused on nothingness. And nothingness is what happened. There is no way to describe the realization of being outside of your self by going deeply inside of your self through concentrating only on breathing. It is like realizing that the shadow I thought to be my spirit is really just my shadow and that my shadow is really who I am – space with little form that eludes everything and everyone and disappears in great light and great darkness.

My spiritual journey is my path towards leadership. Prayer and mediation are vehicles/tools I draw upon to pause, observe, and reflect. They help me step into nothingness.

Which Shoes to Step into

I was asked to ponder what shoes I need to step into in order to become who I want to be in five years. This is a very interesting and hard to ponder question – one that evokes a fear inside me; one that begs commitment to a way of life.

I grew up Catholic, and it is through this upbringing that I feel a very deep commitment to fostering and enabling an equitable, compassionate world. It is not so much of the churches dogma that birthed this deep commitment. Rather, it was the people that shaped my ethics and the situations I found myself in within the church that formed my deep sense of equity.

I remember starting to volunteer at a very young age. I volunteer at nursing homes, hospitals for the mentally ill, runaway teen programs, homeless shelters, and a dearth of other socially conscious organizations. These volunteer jobs exposed me to the suffering, joy, and beauty of the world.

The runaway teen shelter was one of my most amazing experiences as a youth. I met people who were abandoned or felt abandoned by their families. Some ran away to escape abuse, some ran away because their drug addiction forced them to leave, some ran away because their families could no longer deal with their mental illness. My volunteer commitment was very minimal—mostly doing arts and crafts, playing games, and talking to my peers. Through these activities and conversations, I learned some of my peers had more hope than I. I realized that life holds joy and suffering in equal measure regardless of where you are.

My work at the hospital for the mentally ill taught me that art and creativity exist everywhere and that art is beautiful. I had been exposed to museums, classic artists, and other youth-produced work at that time. I had not been exposed to the true impact art and creativity had within people. I saw people that had very little ability to communicate verbally express themselves in a language I could understand. And what they spoke was beauty, love, and tenacity.

These experiences showed me that the world is like and unlike my upbringing. I also realized that in order to understand my place within the world I needed and continue to need to intentionally place myself within contexts, settings, and situations that are outside of my experience and the bubble of my upbringing. Paradoxically, it is through this search for understanding that I know that the more I seek, the less I understand.

I also remember specific examples when the teachings of the church conflicted with actions. I volunteered for a mission trip to Pine Ridge Reservation. While on the mission trip, I got into conflict with the trip leaders because I couldn’t understand why the Native Americans we were there to serve had to attend Christian service if they wanted our help. Through conversations with leaders and elders of Pine Ridge, I saw a deep spirituality on the reservation rooted in traditions that reached back indefinitely into history. I observed that even amid the poverty imposed on the reservation by centuries of government policies, practices, and conflict the people valued what they had. Who were we to insist on a specific “way” in order to get something as basic as a meal or a freshly painted home? Where was the equity?

Another example of conflict between preachings and actions happened to me while I was in the seminary. Seminary prompted me to come out. All the seminarians had to attend a retreat on the exploration of sexuality and abstinence. One night, a group of us were talking about our experiences with sex and sexuality when the topic of homosexuality came up. I was not out yet, but I knew, had known for a very long time, that I was most likely gay. Some of the seminarians started saying disparaging and hateful things about the queer community. I leapt to the defense of the queer community asking how could seminarians, people longing to be spiritual leaders, be so intolerant, hateful, and contradictory. How could a potential religious leader that preached loving others the way he wanted to be treated say that queers were less than? Where was the equity?

A final example of the contradictory nature of the church happened after I came out. Upon my coming out, I was told by the priest at the church in which I was raised—the church in which I volunteered much of my time; the church in which I belonged—that I could no longer work with children and youth at the church. For many years, I had taught Sunday school, led vacation bible school, and attended Wednesday night youth groups, and been a leader within the larger church. All of that was taken away because I came out, not because I was gay. This reinforced my lack of belief in the church. Why was I all of a sudden an outcast? Where was the equity? (Side note: The priest later sent me an apology for his misjudgment. Dear Father: If you are reading this now, thank you.)

But what do these experiences have to do with stepping into shoes now almost fifteen to twenty years later? Everything. If I want to know where I will be in five years, I need to know who I am now, who I was back then, and have a vision of who I will become. All of these experiences happened by accident and without intention. I am privileged to have them all happen to me for they shaped me, and I want to make sure that the experiences in the years to come continue to foster my understanding, or in reality my lack of understanding, of love, beauty, suffering, joy, and equity. I want to be intentional.

In the Tao Te Ching it states “The Master, by residing in the Tao, sets an example for all things. Because [she] doesn’t display [herself], people can see [her] light. Because he has nothing to prove, people can trust his words. Because [she] doesn’t know who [she] is, people recognize themselves in [her]. Because he has no goal in mind, everything he does succeeds.”[1] This is the leader I wish to become. And committing to this path is scary for it means letting go, surrendering, accepting. It means being. And there is nothing scarier and more liberating than going nowhere intentionally.

So..what shoes do I need to step into? Nothing.

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[1] Stephen Mitchell, Tao Te Ching (New York: Harper Collins, 1988), 22