Embracing Simplicity: Reflections inspired by Lent, Ramadan, and Saint David

 “I do believe in simplicity. It is astonishing as well as sad, how many trivial affairs even the wisest thinks he must attend to in a day; how singular an affair he thinks he must omit. When the mathematician would solve a difficult problem, he first frees the equation of all incumbrances, and reduces it to its simplest terms. So simplify the problem of life, distinguish the necessary and the real. Probe the earth to see where your main roots run.” Henry David Thoreau, in a letter dated 27 March 1848 

On July 4th, 1845 Henry David Thoreau moved into a one-room cabin he had built on the shores of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, on land owned by his friend and fellow Transcendentalist, Ralph Waldo Emerson. He lived there for two years, two months, and two days, working and walking on the land, and writing in his journal. He wrote, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Thoreau voluntarily embraced poverty and simplicity, but he was not a complete hermit during his time at Walden Pond, which was only a short walk from the town of Concord. He grew much of his food, but he dined with friends in town when they invited him. Although he wanted to get away from the busyness of town life for a while in order to immerse himself in nature, he valued community and maintained his friendships. He was, however, pushing against the materialism of the nineteenth century, in the wake of the industrial revolution. 

Thoreau saw that most people were stuck in a cycle of endless work and accumulating more and more things, living lives of “quiet desperation” as he put it. “I make myself rich by making my wants few,” he wrote. During his two years at Walden Pond, Thoreau became more attuned to the rhythms of the natural world. In slowing down he was able to observe the smallest details and changes in nature and in himself. He saw that simple living in harmony with nature brought him freedom, clarity and peace. He exemplified the maxim that true happiness comes from within. 

Thoreau was of course not the first person to seek a simple life. Lent commemorates the time that Jesus spent in the wilderness before beginning his ministry. “And he was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels ministered to him.” Mark 1:13 

In the fourth century Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire under Constantine. As their spiritual path became more and more enmeshed in worldly power-play, some devout people made the decision to retreat to the deserts of Egypt, Palestine, and Syria – the first monastics – known as the Desert Fathers and Mothers. They kept their possessions and food to a minimum in order to be free to devote themselves to their relationship with the divine. 

The desert movement inspired Celtic Christians in Northern Europe, who developed their own monastic communities. Saint David founded around a dozen monasteries, in which the monks followed a simple Rule of Life, consisting of prayer, silence, studying scripture, farming the land by their own hands (not even using oxen to pull their ploughs), and eating a plain vegetarian diet of bread, leeks, and herbs. They were not permitted to own possessions, holding everything in common. David was known as Aquaticus, the water drinker, because he and his monks drank only water, and no ale. 

Today, Lent is observed by some Christians as a time of fasting, prayer, and charitable giving – the idea being to exercise self-discipline by decreasing what we consume, deepen relationships with the divine by spending more time in spiritual reflection, and increase generosity by giving more to others.

Similarly, Ramadan is observed by most Muslims as a time of fasting, prayer, and charitable giving – a time to focus on the essentials, prioritising needs over wants, a time of spiritual cleansing and renewal, shedding negative habits and behaviours, a time of being mindful of resources and sharing them with others.

Muslim blogger Yasin Chopdat wrote, “Ramadan offers Muslims a powerful opportunity to rediscover the joy of simplicity and embrace a more minimalist way of life. By cultivating gratitude, practicing generosity, and prioritising spiritual pursuits over material possessions, believers can experience a deeper sense of fulfilment, contentment and purpose in their lives... Ramadan reminds Muslims that true wealth lies not in material possessions, but in the richness of the heart and the capacity to give and receive love and kindness.”

Now I'm not about to join Muslims in fasting from dawn to dusk, and I'm not going to adopt such a spartan lifestyle as Saint David and his monks. Retreating to a cabin in the woods like Thoreau is more attractive, but not really practical. But I do welcome the opportunity that Lent provides to undertake a radical simplification of my life – to engage in a spiritual and physical spring clean and declutter. 

Doug Kraft, a retired UU minister, wrote of the pitfalls of having too much, “If we have too much stuff in our lives, our attention skips from one object to another without really enjoying anything. If we have too many activities, our attention jumps from past to future without settling into the present. If we have too many opinions, we end up thinking about how things should be without fully seeing how things are.” 

The season of Lent and its invitation to simplicity is something I have come to appreciate only in later life. As a child I didn't understand the point of Lent. It seemed unfair to me – we had pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, and then weren't allowed to eat anything nice until Easter Sunday – when I gorged myself on Easter eggs until I was ill! Now, I love Lent as a time to deepen into my spiritual practice – to live deliberately, as Thoreau put it.

Here's what my Lenten practice looks like these days. Perhaps some of it may resonate with you. My first principle is to try to stop doing what clutters up my life: to consider carefully my purchases and consumption habits, and only buy and do what is necessary; to simplify my diet, cutting down on processed foods and eating more whole foods, focusing on sustenance rather than abstinence; to declutter my living spaces and give my excess possessions to charity, creating a more peaceful environment; to clear my mental clutter with a regular digital detox, spending less time on social media and online shopping sites; to declutter my mind with regular meditation and journaling; and to declutter my heart by trying to letting go of grudges and resentments. 

All of this frees up space for more of the things that matter: friendship, generosity, gratitude, kindness, love. I can spend more quality time with friends and family, more time in nature. I am able to give more freely of my resources, my time and my money, to those in need. I feel grateful for and content with all I have. I am attentive to and appreciative of the small changes happening in nature all around me every day. I find myself returning often to Henry David Thoreau's advice, “Simplify the problem of life, distinguish the necessary and the real. Probe the earth to see where your main roots run.” 

The world is complicated and scary. And getting scarier by the day. It is easy to feel overwhelmed by all the awful things that are happening and to feel hopeless to help. But like Saint David we can “do the little things” that are ours to do to make the world a better place. We can consider the impact of our actions, and make careful, considerate choices. We can cultivate caring, compassionate and kind ways of being in the world. We can embody peace and justice in our daily interactions, in our words and our deeds. So let us keep on doing the little things, for the little things really do matter. Amen.

The Wisdom of Both / And: Reflections on Brigid, Goddess and Saint

Having practiced for several years in the Druid tradition, Brigid was always a goddess to me – a personification of the creative and healing powers of fire and water. This year I have been exploring what we can learn from Brigid the Saint. In 2023, the Monday closest to Saint Brigid's Day was designated a Bank Holiday in the Republic of Ireland. There is no firm evidence that Saint Brigid ever actually existed, but according to her life stories written by monks about 300 years later, Brigid was born around 451, founded her monastery at Kildare in 480, and died on 1 February 525.

Saint Brigid shares her feast day with the Celtic goddess Brigid, who was celebrated at Imbolc – a pre-Christian festival heralding the coming of spring, meaning “in the belly”, referring to the ewes who are about to give birth. Both goddess and saint are associated with healing, poetry, smith-craft, protection and domestic animals. It seems as if the goddess morphed into the saint as Christianity replaced the old pagan ways in Ireland. Today, goddess and saint are indistinguishable in the figure of Brigid, who embodies female empowerment, healing, protection, and the spirit of the land coming alive as winter gives way to spring.

St. Brigid's Day is a celebration of women, of the land, and of the returning light. Some of the traditions, mainly in Ireland and the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, include the weaving of Brigid's crosses from reeds, which are placed on doors and windows to ward off bad luck. On the eve of St. Brigid's Day families leave out an offering of bread or cake on a windowsill for Brigid, as she is said to visit houses to give her blessings. A Bride doll is made from corn or oats is decorated and placed in a specially made bed to welcome Brigid into the house. A piece of cloth, known as the Brat Bride (Brigid's cloak), is left outside overnight, on a bush or windowsill, to be blessed by Brigid and imbued with healing powers. Of course, there is a feast on St. Brigid's Day, featuring bread, cheese and beer.

There are many sacred wells dedicated to St. Brigid in Ireland, where she is said to perform miracles of healing through the water. Perhaps these wells were originally sacred to the goddess. The legendary stories of the life of Saint Brigid reflect both her previous incarnation as a goddess and her new life as a Saint, modelling the life and teachings of Christ. 

Brigid is a goddess of both fire and water, and the miraculous events of Saint Brigid's life frequently feature fire and water. She is said to have hung her cloak on the sunbeams to dry after it had become wet in the rain. 

Soon after she had founded her convent in Kildare, Brigid was praying in the church there, when a pillar of fire appeared above her head and rose higher and higher until it reached the roof. Mel, the local bishop, saw it and took it as a sign that Brigid was chosen by God. Her ordained her an abbess, but was so overcome by the Holy Spirit, that he conferred on her the orders for a bishop. So Saint Brigid became the first female bishop of Ireland. Some of Mel's priests objected, but Mel insisted that it was God who had ordained it. 

Like the Christ she followed, Brigid performed many similar miracles, healing the sick and feeding the hungry. She is said to have restored sight to the blind, healed lepers, and even brought the dead back to life. One story records that she turned her bath-water into beer to quench the thirst of her guests – an Irish version of Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana. She is also said to have blessed a woman who came to her with an unwanted pregnancy, and her blessing caused “the child to disappear, without coming to birth, and without pain.”

Brigid is said to have had boundless compassion and generosity, turning no-one in need away from her door. Many stories tell of how she gave away all her food, only for her stores to be miraculously replenished. She is said to have had a cow whose milk never ran dry, symbolising fertility and abundance. Her stories illustrate the law of reciprocity. As the bible tells us many times, what we give will be returned to us.

In common with other Celtic saints, there are several stories of Brigid's kinship with animals. Sometimes Brigid saves the animals, such as the wolves, foxes, and boars she protects from being killed. Sometimes the animals save Brigid, such as the oystercatchers who covered her in seaweed to hide her when she was being chased along a beach by a group of men who were trying to kill her.

Another strong feature of Brigid's life as recorded by the monks was her relationship with her anam cara, her soul-friend, Darlughdach. The monks recorded that the women were so close that they shared a bed. Brigid and Darlughdach have become iconic figures for the LGBT community in Ireland. One of Brigid's sayings was, “A person without a soul friend is like a body without a head.” Mary Earle, in her book Celtic Christian Spirituality, comments, “In other words, without a soul friend, you cannot rightly see, hear, perceive, discover, or know. Without a soul friend you cannot tell whether a context “smells” wrong. You cannot “taste” goodness. You will stumble along, creating habits of thinking and behaving that could become destructive. You cannot walk a spiritual path alone.”

Amen to that. The spiritual life is a shared life, the road we walk together, supporting one another through all the ups and downs, triumphs and trials, of life.

Brigid has become an icon of female empowerment in modern Ireland, in particular, a figurehead for “Repeal the Eighth”, the successful campaign to repeal the amendment which effectively banned abortion in the Republic of Ireland. 

Irish actor Siobhán McSweeney said in a recent interview, “without sounding woo woo, I do think a feminine spirit has finally come back to Ireland. We’ve thrown out the dour masculine authority of the church and patriarchal amendments to our constitution. A wave of feminine energy is wiping away all these manmade things to reveal the country I recognise: partly pagan, matriarchal, intelligent and powerful.”

Melanie Lynch, founder of Herstory, a multi-disciplinary storytelling platform that illuminates and celebrates female role-models, sees Brigid as Ireland’s first environmentalist and first feminist. Her platform led the successful campaign for St. Brigid's Day to become an Irish national holiday. She said, “It’s not the saint or the Goddess, it’s both/and. It’s celebrating the saint because she is true Christianity and we don’t want to lose the magic of that. It’s Celtic Christianity and it’s beautiful. And then the goddess Brigid because we are talking about a time in Ireland (pre-Christian) when there was great reverence for the land, for nature. I think we need the wisdom of both.”

The wisdom of both/and resonates strongly with me – my spiritual path values the beauty and depth of Celtic Christianity and pagan reverence for the land, for nature.  The wisdom of both/and can be invoked whenever we are tempted to make divisions, to see things in black and white, to separate groups of people from each other. Saint Brigid teaches us about the values of generosity, compassion, integrity, spiritual companionship, and above all, simple kindness.

Prayer from an Inclusive Liturgy for LBGT History Month by Sam McBratney, 

“Merciful God, source of all loving kindness, you called Saint Brigid and Saint Darlughdach to teach the new commandment of love through their life together of hospitality and care; may their example inspire in us a spirit of generosity and a passion for justice that, in our hearts and lives, all may witness your fearless love.. May God, who in Brigid and Darlughdach, has provided us the example of generosity, companionship and care: keep your ears ever open to the cry of the poor and excluded.” Amen. 

Grounded in Gratitude: A Reflection for Blue Monday

Today, the third Monday in January, is "Blue Monday" - supposedly the most miserable day of the year - although since this was first posited by a travel company back in 2005, I suspect they were just trying to sell us some "winter sun" holidays - or am I getting cynical in my old age? Nevertheless, I do not know anyone in the northern hemisphere who says that January is their favourite month. In the UK, and many other places, it is cold, it is dark, it is damp. But does it have its own special beauty? Can we find joy in this time?

Writer and herbalist, Brigit Anna McNeill, certainly thinks so. She writes, “I love the dark quiet bareness of winter, the silence and stillness, reminding me as it does, to find my own quiet, to strip away the busyness, so I too can find the darkness of my soil and my heart... It is easy to think that spring rescues us from winter, that it arrives in spite of winter. When really, spring arrives because of winter. The darkness, the rot, the quiet, all gently tending those to come, midwifing life into being.”

“Spring arrives because of winter” is something I have been trying to take to heart. When I was younger, I used to do the same thing every January – I would allow myself to become caught up in all the New Year, New You hype – and start far too many new things and make far too many plans – and by the end of the month, I would be burned out, exhausted and feeling like a failure. In trying to completely reinvent myself I ended up making the same mistake again and again – falling into the trap that the Prophet Isaiah warned against, going over and over old ground, and grinding the grain endlessly. I am sure I am not the only one to have had this experience!

I think that as a society, perhaps we have forgotten the value of “the dark quiet bareness of winter.” I am certainly guilty. My favourite seasons are spring and autumn, when everything in nature is changing, and the days are full of colour and light and activity. I find the cold, damp, dark days of January much less appealing! But, these days, I try to resist the allure of New Year, New You and avoiding “Springing into Action” too soon. It is still winter and will be for some time yet. Winter, like every season, cannot be rushed.. The work of growth and transformation cannot be rushed. As Marge Piercy reminded us in her poem The Seven of Pentacles, we must pay it due care and attention, tending and nurturing ourselves and others, and only then may we trust that the harvest will come.

When we plough, we turn over the soil and expose the things that have been hidden under the surface – all the juicy earthworms and bugs that feed the birds. When we tune into our deep consciousness – through meditation or dream work perhaps – when we take time to turn over the soil of our lives, what treasures might we find there?

The elaborate Anglo-Saxon Acerblot Old English Field Remedy ritual for blessing the land might seem quite strange to us in this day and age, partly because we are less dependent on the farmland in our immediate vicinity to feed us. But, in its intention I do not think it is so far removed from some of the rituals we still perform today. It reminded me that our words and our actions are equally important. And it invites us to pay attention to our whole being, body mind and soul, and to the earth on which we all depend. “Where your attention goes, your energy flows,” as my yoga teacher is fond of saying. 

How do you nurture yourself in these cold, dark days? I try to listen to my body's demands for more rest, and to remind myself that, however much I may resist, it is in stillness and silence, in deepening into the mystery of being rather than doing, that the magic happens. Spring does not come without the winter and the harvest does not come without the ploughing. 

I now think of January as a time of careful preparation for the more active times of spring and summer - “proper preparation prevents poor performance,” as my manager husband is fond of saying! It is a time to go slowly and let nature take its course in its own sweet time; a time to heed Marge Piercy's words, “if you tend them properly.. the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.”

Now, instead of making many New Year's resolutions that I will never stick to, I try to deepen into one spiritual practice that brings me joy and helps me flourish. This year my focus is on developing gratitude, inspired by the words of the medieval mystic, Meister Eckhart, “If the only prayer you said in your life was 'thank you' it would be enough.”

Gratitude has long been recognized as a transformative spiritual practice, fundamental to cultivating a healthy spiritual life of meaning and fulfilment. Cicero, a philosopher in ancient Rome, said, “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all the others.”

Each morning, as soon as I rise from my bed, I bow and give thanks for the day, and spend a few minutes in prayer. During the day, I try to remember to say thank you to everyone I speak to, and to let my loved ones know I appreciate them. Before I lie down to sleep, I use my own version of the Ignatian Examen prayer format to help me reflect on my day. I begin my reflections by thinking of at least three things from the day for which I am grateful, and I give thanks for those. I consider what was difficult and ask for guidance on anything that is troubling me. I end by giving thanks for the day.

I find it life-enhancing to intentionally cultivate gratitude as a spiritual discipline with these simple practices. Gratitude enables us to recognise, appreciate and savour the goodness in life – the simple pleasures, the beauty of nature, the kindness of strangers, the love of family and friends – and to express our thanks in words and actions. 

There are many ways to cultivate gratitude as a spiritual practice in everyday life. You may like to create your own simple morning and evening gratitude rituals, or keep a gratitude journal, or build gratitude into your regular meditation or prayer practice, or create a gratitude jar, which you fill with notes of the things for which you are thankful, as well as taking the time to express your appreciation of others.

It can sometimes be hard to feel grateful, for a variety of reasons – if we are ill or in pain, or if we have worries that preoccupy our minds. Perhaps we are in the habit of noticing more negatives than positives. Perhaps we may have unrealistic expectations, or compare ourselves to others. Sometimes we may just become busy and distracted, and no longer notice our blessings.

Mindfully returning to gratitude helps me to notice and be thankful for all the simple but wonderful things in life – like sunrises and sunsets, the buds on the trees, nourishing food, good conversation, canine company, human care, spiritual community. That is not to say that I ignore the bad things in life, the problems and difficulties, but the more intentionally I cultivate gratitude, the less they overwhelm me, the stronger I feel, and the more patient I am with myself and others. Sometimes I may even be grateful for the hard times, for the lessons they have given me, and the growth and wisdom they have left in their wake. 

Research has shown that gratitude as spiritual practice brings many benefits, improving our mood and mental well-being, increasing our feelings of happiness, decreasing our stress and anxiety, improving our sleep, increasing our resilience, increasing our compassion for ourselves and others, and enabling us to enjoy more harmonious relationships. 

“It is not happiness that makes us grateful. It's gratefulness that makes us happy,” said the Benedictine monk and founder of A Network for Grateful Living, Brother David Steindl-Rast.

As the bible tells us many times, we reap what we sow. Our relationships need to be tended and nurtured to flourish. As the Prophet Isaiah said, the farmer plants each seed according to its specifications, and puts each type of seed where it grows best. Humans usually grow best in loving communities, who meet our individual needs and encourage our unique gifts. We all need to give and receive love and care.  

Let us take Marge Piercy's advice and “weave real connections... keep reaching out, keep bringing in.”

Let us cultivate gratefulness for all the goodness in our lives and in the world.

Let us be thankful for the fertile land, for our food and the farmers who grow it, for our gardens and gardeners.

Let us be grateful for all those who cultivate community, who weave connections, who labour for the common good.

Let us honour the natural cycles of the earth and of our lives.

Let us be grateful for all the ways we care for ourselves, for each other, and for our precious earth.

Let us be thankful for the sowing and reaping of tender loving kindness in our daily lives. 

Here is my January prayer for you: 

Don't feel obliged to spring into action just yet. Give yourself time to prepare the ground, to do the work of tilling and tending to your soul, and to nurture your relationships, and in the fullness of time, you will surely harvest the fruits of the spirit – you will find yourself blessed with patience, kindness, and gentleness, and live in love, joy, and peace. Amen and Blessed Be. 

Choose Wisely, Choose Love: A Reflection for Epiphany

 “Choice is your greatest power. It is an even greater power than love, because you must first choose to be a loving person.” Caroline Myss

At New Year, we may be thinking about our choices. We do not know what this year will bring us, but we do know that we will have choices as to how we respond. We can choose to be a loving person. We can choose to see the best in others.

After the Chorlton Unitarians carol service in December, when we were enjoying mulled wine and mince pies, one of the attendees told me his own 'three wise men' story – many years ago, he was cycling home late at night after a party, when he was very drunk. On his way through a rough part of Manchester he saw three young men approaching and, from their appearance, worried that he was about to be mugged. He became so frightened, that he fell off his bike. As he hit the ground, the men ran up to him, and he feared the worst. But they picked him up, dusted him down, reunited him with his bicycle and wished him well as he rode away, by now feeling rather ashamed of his assumptions. Never judge a book by its cover, he concluded. “That's going in my sermon!” I told him.

Similarly, in Home by Another Way - Barbara Brown-Taylor's adaptation of the story of the wise men from the Gospel of Matthew, the magi had their expectations confounded. They thought they were seeking a king, not expecting to find a small and simple family in a small and simple house. They brought expensive gifts and received simple gifts, which shifted their perspective, and allowed them to see how they might make different choices and have different priorities. May we be open to having our expectations confounded and being changed by experiencing the unexpected. 

“For the scent and weight and skin of a baby,” said the first wise man, who had no interest in living on herbs anymore.” May we delight in the sensual pleasures of our embodied existence, using all our senses to savour our lives.

“For this home and the love here,” said the second wise man, who could not remember how to say it in the ancient language.” May we be grateful for hospitality, for love and affection, for all the spaces in which we feel at home.

“For a really great story,” said the third wise man, who thought that telling it might do a lot more for him than walking on hot coals.” May we share with others the experiences that touch our hearts and change us, and may we listen well to the stories that others tell us.

In Wise Women Also Came by Jan Richardson, we hear the story that wasn't told in the Gospel of Matthew, the story of the wise women, the midwives, who, she imagined, helped Mary in her labour, and brought useful gifts for her and her baby – water for washing, fire for light and warmth, and a blanket to wrap him in. May we too listen for the stories behind the stories, the unseen and unheard, the unsung heroines whose gifts go uncelebrated, but are absolutely what is needed in the moment. May we look for the magic in the ordinary. 

A mother birthing and nursing her child is the oldest and most ordinary story in the world, but it is also the most magical. Every new life is a miracle. Every family is a holy family.  And love is our birthright. Every one of us deserves love, for we are all children of God. 

Sometimes love too comes in unexpected ways. “Wise One, drop the reins and let the camel guide you. Follow the rising falling animal in your chest. To be wise, after all, is to be led..” wrote Fred Lamotte, in his poem Magi. Over Christmas I watched a documentary film about Gordon Buchanan, the wildlife cameraman, crossing the Gobi desert with two camels. He had to let the camels guide him, as they were the ones who knew how to survive and thrive in the desert. At first, he was quite scared of the camels and the camels were suspicious of him, but over time, they developed a relationship of mutual trust and affection. May we be willing to take a chance with those who take us outside our comfort zone.

Over the Christmas period I have been taking the opportunity to go outside my comfort zone and visit different churches local to where I live to experience their services. On Christmas Eve, I went to the local Roman Catholic church for their evening mass. Mass was preceded by half an hour of carol singing, which I loved, but when the mass began, I found myself inwardly squirming at the frequent mentions of sin. But then I started to notice the warmth of fellowship in this church full of people singing and smiling, especially during the 'sign of peace', when people shake hands with their neighbours in the pews and say, 'may peace be with you.' I began to relax into the beauty and simplicity of the liturgy, and not let my theological differences with it bother me. I left feeling blessed by the spirit of Christmas. 

We can always choose to see things differently. At a recent online Unitarian Christian Association gathering I attended, someone said, “When I don't agree with something, I try to see windows rather than walls.” What a wonderful motto.

May we keep choosing to be led by love, choosing to be open to change, choosing windows over walls. Amen and Blessed Be.

Be A Lamp Unto Yourself: A Reflection for Guru Purnima

"Be a lamp unto yourself." Last words of the Buddha

Today is the Indian festival of Guru Purnima, observed by Buddhists, Hindus, Jains, and Sikhs, as a day of gratitude for spiritual teachers. Guru means “dispeller of darkness or ignorance” and Purnima refers to the full moon. 

Along your spiritual journey, I wonder who are those who have helped you dispel the darkness? Gurus or spiritual teachers may be people we are used to thinking of as spiritual masters, whose followers built religious and spiritual systems around their teachers, like Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed (peace be upon him), Guru Nanak. They may be well known contemporary spiritual teachers, like Marianne Williamson, Adyashanti, Byron Katie, Rupert Spira, Joanna Macy, Richard Rohr, to name just a few. They may also be people in our circle of family and friends who have been shining lights for us. They may be our animal companions. They may be other beings, like trees. They may be beings in the spirit world – perhaps you work with angels or ascended masters or animal spirit guides. Anyone and anything can be a spiritual teacher for us if we are open to receiving their wisdom.

Among those who are well known as such, what makes for a genuine spiritual teacher? Jonathan Robinson, author of The Enlightenment Project, has conducted interviews with over 100 popular spiritual teachers, who shared several characteristics, such as kindness, humour, humility and presence. He wrote, “Although each of the spiritual leaders I got to know were very sincere and displayed great kindness, humor, humility, and presence, they also had very human faults. Many people assume that spiritual leaders and people who are “enlightened” should be perfect human beings. They are not. For better or worse, they are very much human. For example, I noticed that Mother Teresa seemed sad and disorganized, Ram Dass didn’t seem to take good care of his body (which eventually led to a stroke) … seeing that many teachers were flawed human beings with messy lives actually inspired me. After all, if they could display such wisdom and lofty behavior while being highly imperfect, then maybe so could I.”

What happens when our guru's faults turn out to be more serious? When does a spiritual community become a cult? There are many instances of spiritual abuse – when people in a position of power abuse their power to cause harm to others. One of my main spiritual practices is Kundalini Yoga, a form of yoga that combines movement with breath meditations and devotional mantras from the Sikh tradition. It was brought from India to the West by a Sikh man known as Yogi Bhajan, in the 1960s. He established ashrams and teaching programmes in Canada and the US, and Kundalini Yoga spread from there to various countries around the world.

In 2019, some 15 years after his death, it came to light that Yogi Bhajan had sexually abused and exerted disturbing psychological control over some of his followers. 3HO (also known as Happy, Healthy, Holy), the organisation founded by Yogi Bhajan, commissioned an independent report into the allegations of abuse, which found that other members in positions of authority within the community were also perpetrators. 3HO then set up an Independent Healing and Reparations Program to offer counselling and financial compensation to the victims of abuse. Some healing happened, but some lives remain scarred.

Although I have had no personal contact with Yogi Bhajan himself or with any one of the perpetrators or victims of abuse, these revelations shocked me and caused me to re-evaluate my involvement with the Kundalini Yoga community. My first reaction was to completely disassociate from everything to do with it, in horror and disgust. But, I had to admit, I found the practices spiritually nourishing, and my local yoga community supportive and uplifting, and our yoga teacher kind and wise. So I had to ask myself, could I separate the founder, Yogi Bhajan, from his teachings? Should I? Is it ethical to do so?

After much soul-searching, I decided to continue practising Kundalini Yoga, and I continue to be spiritually nourished by practising in my local community. I hope that you have not had to make such a difficult decision and that you do not encounter abuse in your spiritual journey. 

We all exercise discretion and discernment, using both reason and intuition, to evaluate whether teachers are genuine and whether their teachings resonate with us. Above all, we are all our own teachers, and our own lives, reflected on and learned from, are our best teachings. Teachers can point the way for us, but we have to move from darkness to light ourselves. And just as the earth moves from darkness to light to darkness again as it rotates, so we are always moving between darkness and light – 'enlightenment' is not a one-time occurrence or linear journey for most people. 

Perhaps somewhat ironically, Kundalini Yoga emphasises being your own teacher. We 'tune in' before practising using the mantra ONG NAMO GURU DEV NAMO - I bow to the Creative Wisdom, I bow to the Divine Teacher within.

How much emphasis we put on having a guru or spiritual teacher that we follow may depend on which spiritual tradition we are following. For example, within the Sufi tradition, one is initiated by a Pir or Master, whose teachings are passed down in a lineage, from the founder of the Sufi order, who in turn traced their lineage back to the Prophet Muhammad. In the Quaker tradition, by contrast, there are no gurus or spiritual teachers, and each person is absolutely their own authority in spiritual matters. Similarly, in Unitarianism, we are each free to pursue our own individual spiritual path, without having to follow any particular person. Of course, we all learn from each other in spiritual community. “We are all the guru and we are all the student, many times every day,” as my friend from the Unitarian Hindu Connections group, Suresh Rajpura, says. 

As Unitarians, we are blessed to be part of a spiritual community in which we all learn from one another. Our radical dissenting forebears laid great emphasis on the 'priesthood of all believers.' I have learned from the wisdom of those who have gone before us in the Unitarian movement, particularly for me the Transcendentalists of the nineteenth century. They pushed the boundaries of Unitarian sources of wisdom beyond the Bible, to embrace wisdom from the East and from Nature, and laid emphasis on the individual conscience as the 'seat of authority in religion,' to quote Unitarian theologian James Martineau.

And while I appreciate our Unitarian heritage, I have learned the most in my spiritual journey from what other Unitarians have shared from their hearts in our gatherings. The divine light within me and you, which we share in the light of our chalice flame, is what most moves me from darkness to light. 

I leave you with the words of Sufi poet and favourite of many Unitarians, Rumi,

"Let your heart's light guide you to my house. Let your heart's light show you that we are one."

From Little Acorns Mighty Oaks Grow

This day, may I be like a tree:

A shelter for all who come;

Growing towards the light,

Bending with the wind,

Bearing good fruit;

Rooted in the Earth

And grounded in Love.

I begin every day with this spoken and body prayer. I then walk the dog in local woods. I am grateful for the calming presence of the trees, as I walk, sit and sing beneath their welcoming canopy.

Oaks have always been one of my favourite trees. On the farm where I grew up, a huge oak stands at the edge of the farmyard, guardian of farm and family. I am not the only one to consider oaks special. Oak is the national tree of many countries. There are a number of famous individual ancient oaks in the UK, including the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest (said to have sheltered Robin Hood), the Royal Oak (in which Charles II hid after the battle of Worcester in 1651), and Macbeth's Oak in Birnam Wood, Perth. 

Oaks can live for over 1,000 years. The Big Belly Oak, the oldest tree in Savernake Forest, was a tiny sapling at the Battle of Hastings in 1066! Gog and Magog, the 'Oaks of Avalon', in Glastonbury, may be 2,000 years old.

Oak trees have captured the human imagination for millennia. They were sacred to thunder and lightning gods, such as the Celtic Dagda, the Norse Thor and the Greek Zeus. Druids held their sacred rites in oak groves. Oaks feature frequently in the Hebrew Bible, where they are sometimes known as terebinths – for example, in the stories of Abraham, Jacob, Joshua, Gideon, and Obadiah – in which they symbolise stability, faithfulness, and the power and protection of the divine.

In shamanic practices, oak is often the axis mundi, serving as a doorway to other worlds, enabling the practitioner to travel through its roots to the lower realm of ancestors and nature spirits, and through its branches to the upper realm of angels and ascended masters or enlightened ones.

Oaks are great spiritual teachers, offering us freely their lessons in resilience, generosity and nurturing community. Oaks can survive the harshest conditions and adverse events like being struck by lightning. They teach us the importance of staying grounded and steadfast in the face of adversity, and growing wise by learning from experience. 

Oaks epitomise generous service to the community. They play a huge part in our ecosystems, and are ecosystems in themselves. UK native oaks (pedunculate and sessile) support over 2,300 different species – birds, mammals, invertebrates, fungi, lichens and bryophytes – 326 of which are completely dependent on them (such as the oak leaf blister fungi), and another 229 that are rarely found on trees other than oak (such as the oak leaf-roller beetle). All stages of the tree – from acorn to sapling to maturity to deadwood – support obligate and highly associated species. 

Trees contribute to woodland ecosystems by providing shade, adding leaves and deadwood to woodland floor litter, and nutrient cycling through the interactions between their roots and other soil organisms. The shelter and support that oaks provide for myriad other life forms can inspire us to support those in need, care for one another, and contribute to the well-being of our wider communities.

With their extensive root systems, oaks encourage us to maintain a deep connection with our heritage, our roots. I recently discovered that one of my Transcendentalist heroes, the writer and naturalist Henry David Thoreau, had a passion for ancient oaks. In 1860 he spent several months exploring the ancient oak woodland of Inches Wood in Boxborough, Massachusetts, cataloguing trees and recording his findings in his journal. On 3 January 1861, with civil war approaching, Thoreau wrote that Inches Wood was, “likely to be cut off within a few years for ship timber and the like.” His fears were realised when, by 1862, the owner had cut all the old trees and sold the timber to the Union Navy.

Today, the survival of oaks is threatened by climate change, development, and disease. Worldwide, over a third of primary forests were cut down between 1900 and 2015. Britain has lost almost half of its ancient woodland since the 1930s and is now one of the most nature-depleted countries in the world, with only half our biodiversity left. Woods and forests are biodiversity hubs. We neglect them at our peril.

Since 2014 southern England and Wales have been affected by acute oak decline, caused by drought, waterlogging, and pollution, which stress trees and lead to infections by bacteria, fungi and insects, causing leaf loss, cracked bark and 'bleeding'. Affected trees can die within five years.

There are many things that we can do to help the cause of our precious ancient trees. Here are two actions you might like to consider:

1. Join Unitarians for Climate Justice (U4CJ) – we share information, inspire and encourage each other, and come together to take action. Our latest action was joining the multi-organisation march Restore Nature Now in London on 22nd June.

2. Support the Woodland Trust, whose work includes planting trees, funding research on oak decline and other tree crises, managing the ancient tree inventory, and calling for full legal protection for all ancient trees.

In these times, when our society seems more divided than ever before, may we be inspired to welcome all to our expansive canopy, and do all we can to provide everyone with nourishment for body and soul. As the saying goes, from little acorns mighty oaks grow. We grow strong when we consistently nurture one another in belonging.  

A last word from Henry David Thoreau's poem Friendship, which describes his friendship with Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side

Withstand the winter’s storm,

And, spite of wind and tide,

Grow up the meadow’s pride,

For both are strong.

Above they barely touch, but, undermined

Down to their deepest source,

Admiring you shall find

Their roots are intertwined Insep’rably.”

"Your people shall be my people" - Reflections on the Book of Ruth for Shavuot

 

"Ruth replied, “Do not plead with me to abandon you, to turn back from following you. For where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, and worse, if anything but death comes between me and you!”" Ruth 1:16 - 17

Listen to a beautiful song by Alicia Jo Rabins telling the story of Ruth here

The Festival of Shavuot celebrates the harvest of the first fruits, and the giving of the Torah by God on Mount Sinai and its acceptance by the Jewish people. At the centre of this covenant for living together in right relationship is the concept of hesed of loving kindness or steadfast love. 

Shavuot celebrates the Torah as the first fruits of the relationship between God and his people, and the first fruits of the land, in the barley harvest. The Book of Ruth is read in synagogues as part of the Shavuot services. Part of the story includes the barley harvest, and it is also a story of hesed in action – it is about people living in right relationship.

The Book of Ruth centres around the relationship between Naomi, a woman from Bethlehem, in Judah, and her daughter-in-law, Ruth, from Moab (present-day Jordan). It is one of only two books of the Bible to be named after a woman, and the only one to have female friendship at its core.

Ruth is set in the time of the Judges, a chaotic and tumultuous time in Israel's history before the establishment of a monarchy in approximately 1020 BCE. The themes of the story include return, restoration, and redemption, which makes it likely that it was written in the time of the Babylonian exile or shortly after the return, between 586 and 500 BCE. 

Ruth is a very human story. There are no miracles, no burning bushes, no voices from the storm. God works through the actions of people caring for each other. It is only ever implicit, rather than explicit, in the text, that God is behind the reverse of fortunes for the two women. 

Naomi and her husband and sons travel from Bethlehem to Moab to escape famine. In Moab their sons marry Moabite women. In the next few years, all the men of the family die, leaving Naomi with her daughters-in-law. Naomi urges them to return to their birth families, but Ruth refuses, declaring her loyalty to Naomi, saying, “Your people will be my people and your God my God.” Naomi and Ruth return to Judah, where Boaz, a wealthy landowner and relative of Naomi, shows Ruth kindness and provides for her, and ultimately marries her. Ruth then becomes the great-grandmother of King David, and thus the ancestor of Jesus. 

On the surface, Ruth is a simple story of faithfulness and kindness, but there are several layers to it. Let us look first in detail at the human level. Shavuot commemorates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, and its acceptance by the Israelites. At the heart of this covenant or moral code for living in community is the injunction to treat each other kindly – to love your neighbour as yourself. In the story of Ruth we see this enacted in everyday life.

All three major characters embody “hesed” - this Hebrew word, which often refers to one of the characteristics of God, is difficult to translate into English. It is translated variously as “loving-kindness”, “steadfast love”, “mercy”, “faithfulness”, or simply “love”. Most biblical commentators agree that none of these translations fully express “hesed”, but touch on components of it. Naomi, Ruth and Boaz all respond to kindness shown them with acts of loyalty and generosity that go beyond the obligations of simple reciprocity. 

The 12th century Jewish philosopher Maimonides wrote of hesed that it, “includes two notions, one of them consisting in the exercise of beneficence towards one who deserves it, but in greater measure than he deserves it. In most cases, the prophetic books use the word hesed in the sense of practising beneficence towards one who has no right at all to claim this from you.” (Guide for the Perplexed)

In our week ahead, perhaps we might like to reflect on how such kindness, loyalty and generosity manifests in our lives. When have others taken risks and gone the extra mile to help us? How do we give generously of our resources to help others?

There is also a national or political layer to the story of Ruth. With its positive portrayal of Ruth as a foreign convert, the book may have been written as an antidote to those voices who were discouraging intermarriage in the post-exilic period. Ruth takes a risk to follow the call of her love for Naomi, in leaving her homeland, her people, and going to live in a foreign land, where she is unsure of how she will be received or whether she will be cared for. She puts her trust in Naomi, and in her people and her God.

Let us reflect on how we build relationships with people of different cultures and backgrounds to ourselves – personally as a society – how do we welcome the stranger? How do we make sure that those in need are provided for and cared for?

There is an even bigger picture in Ruth – a cosmological layer – one that relates to humanity as part of Nature.  Ruth's journey mirrors the journey of the first half of the year from winter to summer – from famine to feast, from fallow to fertile. This is one of those stories which for me illustrates the saying that the world is God's body – and we are God's hands and feet. In Ruth, the Divine Plan is fulfilled through human actions. It says, when we bless the world with our kindness, we are blessed in return. The Law of Reciprocity again. 

In the early medieval biblical commentary known as Midrash, Rabbi Zeira wrote of Ruth, “This scroll tells nothing either of cleanliness or of uncleanliness, neither of prohibition or permission. For what purpose then was it written? To teach how great is the reward of those who do deeds of kindness.” (Midrash Ruth Rabbah 2.13)

What does our experience teach us? Do we believe that kindness will be rewarded by blessings? Do we believe that the universe is ultimately a friendly place? Do we trust in the God of our understanding or Life? Is there Love at the heart of things? 

Give All to Love by Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Give all to love; 

Obey thy heart;

Friends, kindred, days, 

Estate, good-fame, 

Plans, credit and the Muse,—

Nothing refuse.

’T is a brave master; 

Let it have scope:

Follow it utterly, 

Hope beyond hope.

It was never for the mean; 

It requireth courage stout.

Souls above doubt, 

Valor unbending, 

It will reward,—

They shall return 

More than they were, 

And ever ascending."