In his famous Harvard Divinity School lectures entitled The Human Condition Father Thomas Keating asks the question which, he feels, "is the focus of the first half of the spiritual journey." Three short words: "Where are you?" I remember as a child going to the grocery store with my Mom, walking so close to her that I listened to the rhythmic clunking of her heels on the hard floor as we walked. I could feel her skirt brush my arm every so often. She looked at her list and scanned the shelves, questioning quietly to herself. I usually cast my eyes around at all the different people we passed, noticing the worn parts of their shoes, the way their brow wrinkled when talked to their children, unconsciously eavesdropping on their conversations. My Mom and I weren't actively interacting, but I could feel her presence, her gait, her energy of protection surrounding me as we moved seperately together through the store. Like any young child, though, I saw the candy displayed in those clear tubs, with one lid just barely held open by the metal scoop someone had forgotten to put all the way back in. I saw it and I wandered off, away from my Mom. I followed the impulse of my sweet tooth and the promise of getting a scoop of yogurt-covered raisins. Before long I realized I didn't feel my Mom's presence there. I turned and looked behind me and didn't see her anywhere in that aisle either. I shouted, "Mommy, where are you?" My heart started to beat harder in my chest as I turned and went to the next aisle. She wasn't there either. "Where did she go? Why couldn't she hear me? What if I can't find her and she can't find me and I'm left here all alone?" Then, just as I started to cry silently to myself, I heard my name over the loudspeaker ordering me, Amy Hutchinson, to please come to the front of the store. My mother was waiting for me. While I knew I might be in trouble I didn't care. I could breathe again. Everything was okay. She had found me. That loudspeaker might as well have been the voice of God to me right then. My Mom knew where I was. I knew where she was. Everything would be okay.
The need to feel oriented, to feel connected to those who know us, and to be surrounded by those who can help and proctect us is the most basic need of all. Nothing makes the panic set in faster than feeling lost and disoriented. Without a sense of place, our sense of self falls apart. Our place and our identity are inextricably connected. When we meet someone for the first time, our first question is usually, "where are you from?" That one simple question unlocks all sorts of other details about who they are. The other day, standing at the cash register at Old Navy, I mentioned to the saleswoman that I had recently moved from Nashville, Tennessee. Instantly the girl next to me in line said, "You're from Nashville? Me too. I moved here 3 years ago." "Do you miss it?" I asked. "Oh yeah. My whole family still lives there. It's hard." Shortly after our conversation she gave me a coupon she couldn't use and we shared a knowing smile as I left. We shared a sense of place. In a way, our emotional compasses were still showing Nashville as our true North.
I think the Spiritual journey always comes back to that question. Where are you? Whether we are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, agnostic, whatever our faith may be, we all stand someplace in relationship to God, Abba, Allah, The Higher Power, or the Unknown. We all stand someplace in relationship to others in our life. We all stand someplace in relationship to our "true" self. Sometimes the place where we stand is a paved path, well traveled, and flanked with stores providing anything we might need. We may not even be aware that we are at a crossroads since we are so comfortable. At other times it feels like every step we take carries us further off the beaten path, deeper into the mud, and farther away from the trailhead. For many of us, though, a lot of life is lived somewhere in the middle. Our days seem to push us from behind from the moment we wake up, urging us quickly into routines, task lists, commutes, in and out of problems, and leaving us exhausted on the bed at the end of the day feeling left with little or no time to reflect on any of it.
The problem with never reflecting, never thinking through our day and considering how we might want to change direction or recallibrate our compasses for the next day, is that we get lost. It doesn't always happen immediately. Sometimes we don't even know we're lost because all the signs look the same, all the roads we're traveling look familiar. But when we're lost on the inside, when we slowly become a stranger to our self, to our hopes, to our inner "home". When our spirits are lost, our symptoms aren't so obvious. Sometimes we say yes to too many people and too many things. Sometimes we just opt to play on the internet instead of talking with our partner. Sometimes we just keep moving and fill every moment up with more and more. At some point the ache will set in though, and we'll look at ourselves in the mirror and wonder who that is looking back.
The discipline of Discernment isn't just about the big decisions, though we do learn much about our spirits at those crossroads. Discernment starts with noticing. As you go through the tasks of your day this week, just try to notice what's around you. Try to be there with your thoughts instead of letting your mind wander. Turn off the radio in the car for 5 minutes and just breathe and feel whatever you're feeling. This is what children are so good at. They live in the moment and absorb, with all of their senses, the texture, complexion, aroma, and energy of that moment. Take just 10 or 15 minutes this week in the car, at the store, at your desk, to just notice. Ask yourself, "where am I?" The answer may surprise you.
