Rising in Love: An Easter Reflection

 “And when the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. And they were saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?” And looking up, they saw that the stone was rolled back; for it was very large. And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe; and they were amazed. And he said to them, “Do not be amazed; you seek Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified. He has risen, he is not here; see the place where they laid him.” Mark 16: 1 – 6 

In the approach to Easter this year, I have been drawn to the imagery of the stone rolled back, and I have been contemplating what it might mean for me, in my life. This month, I have been undertaking a 21-day Sadhana, facilitated by my yoga teacher and the supportive community of fellow practitioners that surround her, focused on a variety of practices for opening the heart to new opportunities. Sadhana is a Sanskrit word meaning 'discipline' in pursuit of a goal, and in Kundalini Yoga it refers to a daily spiritual practice done with the goal of transcending the ego.

The image of the stone rolled back and the empty tomb have become for me a metaphor for the opening of my heart. The tomb stone represents death, separation, the ego, the false self, all the ways I close myself off from love. The stone rolled back to reveal the empty tomb represents life, union, the true self, all the wondrous possibilities of a lived in the fullness of love.

The journey of Lent is a microcosm of life's spiritual journey – the continuing transformation from death to life, from fear to love. We begin on Ash Wednesday by acknowledging our mortality and our human frailties. We end on Easter Sunday by celebrating the triumph of love over death and our own participation in that great, universal love – the miracle of resurrection that happens within us and around us every day when we forgive ourselves and others, and acknowledge our interconnection with all beings. 

St Epiphanios of Cyprus, one of the Early Church Fathers, in a homily given on Holy Saturday, Easter Eve, said, "I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, for you are in me and I am in you. Together we form only one person and we cannot be separated."

Franciscan spiritual teacher Richard Rohr describes the journey from the false self to the true self as a returning home to the truth of who we are in God and who God is in us, which is love. In his book, Immortal Diamond, he writes, "Many Christians begin Lent on Ash Wednesday with the signing of ashes on the forehead and the words from Genesis 3:19, which is just the first shocking part of the message, "Dust you are and unto dust you shall return." But then we should be anointed, Christed, with a holy oil on Easter morning, with the other half of the message: love is always stronger than death and unto that love you have now returned.”

The true self, the connected self, is the self that acts in love and from love. But it is not always easy to choose love. Sometimes it is easier to choose the illusion of separation. Easter reminds us that we always live in union with the divine, but sometimes we cover up this reality with the stone of a hard heart and we need to roll away the stone and recover our true nature.

The UU minister Paul Stephan Dodenhoff, in his piece Why I Celebrate Easter, writes, “Every day offers us, yet again, the chance to experience our own Divinity and spiritual Transformation. The stone is rolled away and the tomb is left empty every time we acknowledge our own Christ Reality—or whatever name you choose to use—and the Christ Reality of all beings and things as part and parcel of the Ultimate Divine Mystery in which we “live and move and have our being.” To do that, we must die to our small, petty ego-selves: a difficult, often painful process.”

During my Lenten Sadhana journey, there were some days on which I  found myself experiencing resistance to completing my yoga practice. This is not unusual for me, since I can struggle with the discipline required to maintain a consistent, daily spiritual practice. But this resistance didn't feel like that. It felt like I was resisting the process of continuing to open my heart wider. Eventually I realised my resistance was linked to some difficulties I was experiencing in my relationship with a friend. 

This friend has always been what I would politely call 'scatty' but recently the results of their behaviour had left me feeling hurt. My friend had made commitments which they had not kept. They apologised, but I had spent what felt like too much time and energy picking up the messy pieces they had left behind, on several occasions. I was beginning to become resentful and in danger of hardening my heart towards them. I realised if I didn't address the issue then I would eventually have to walk away from the friendship. 

When a relationship is abusive and the other person does not respect us, the best thing we can do is to walk away. This friendship is not like that. My friend is a good person, who is kind, funny and very good company. They also happen to be forgetful and lead a chaotic life, which means they don't always honour their commitments. It is part of the way they are wired. It is no use hoping they will change. 

I didn't want to lose the friend I love, but I had begun to feel that love for my friend and love for myself were in conflict, pulling me in different directions. How could I act with love for both myself and for my friend?

First, I had to take a step back and acknowledge that it was my bruised ego that was causing me to feel annoyed and under-valued, that my friend had not deliberately set out to hurt me.  And then I made the decision to pull back from some of the plans we had made together, to give myself space to consider how I might approach things differently in future.

Ultimately, I know that if I want to keep my friend, I have to keep them warts and all. I choose to stay in relationship, to risk feeling hurt and let down again. I choose to open my heart to love, knowing that I may not always like the consequences. Sometimes love is hard work. The ego is not transcended in one day or even in the space of a 21-day Sadhana.

I believe in the inherent goodness of people. I believe that people rarely do hurtful things deliberately. Sometimes it may be through ignorance or because they are hurting themselves. Opening our hearts to people doesn't mean we need to condone their behaviour. It means we open our hearts to their pain and try to understand where they are coming from. 

Humans are hardwired for connection and community. We are hardwired for love. We may not always like what the people we love do or don't do. We make not always like all the people in our communities. But we can choose to keep loving them, even when it feels difficult. I believe that, in the end, love is always worth it.

This Easter, may we recognise our interdependence with all beings, how we are woven into the fabric of being itself. May we accept that we are loved unconditionally and keep returning to the truth of that love, that we may offer love and forgiveness to one another. And may we give thanks for the gift of new life that we receive each morning upon waking, and the opportunities each new day brings.

I leave you with the words of UU minister Molly Housh Gordon from her piece We Keep Rising in Love, “Is new life possible? Is love stronger, even, than death? The question itself invites us to rise up, and to live as though it were true—to make it true in our living... You can crush Love down, bury it, cover it over, but it will rise. It will reach for the sun, and we will reach for each other. Love will have the final word, even if that word is just a question, a wild possibility, a whisper to rise and follow wherever it may lead. Communities formed and nurtured in love will rise up for and with each other again and again.” Amen.

"Do the little things" - On Peace, Justice, and the Wisdom of the Warrior-Sage

"These days Welsh people have begun to adopt the daffodil as their emblem, but originally it was the leek. David is said to have been the son of a prince, and to have been brought up as a man of war. He was, however, a Christian and had no wish to spend his life in killing. He joined the Church, and started a monastery where he became well known for his learning and his care of people. He was a peaceful man – though he was not always allowed to enjoy the peaceful life. Legend tells us that war-like people poured into Wales. They over-ran much of the country – killing and stealing and destroying. The Welsh tried to resist them but they were no match for the invaders. Then they remembered David and how he had been trained as a man of war. They went to him and begged his help. He loved his country and so agreed. He rallied all the knights of the country around him. In the battle that followed the Welsh were a small army and at the beginning did not fare very well. During a lull in the battle, when each side was taking a rest, David was concerned that they were so few, and that they could easily lose sight of each other and even kill each other by mistake. Then he had an idea. The field where they were resting was full of leeks. David pulled one out, stuck it in his helmet, and called on his knights to do the same. This way they would be able to recognise each other. So with renewed enthusiasm they returned to the battle, won a victory, and pushed the invaders out of Wales. That is why the Welsh still wear a leek – or nowadays a daffodil – on the 1st of March in honour of St. David." From a story by Derek Smith

"The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, with the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!”" John 2: 13 - 16

I  was struck by the similarities between today's gospel reading from the Revised Common Lectionary about Jesus turning over the tables in the temple and the story of St David and the leeks. David was a man of peace, known for his kindness and compassion, but was prepared to help with battle to defend his community from attack. Jesus was a man of peace, known for his kindness and compassion, but was prepared to throw the corrupt money changers out of the temple to defend his community from enemies within and the holy temple from desecration. “There are no unsacred places. Only sacred places and desecrated places,” said the poet Wendell Berry.

When I was younger I used to think that this display of anger from Jesus was somewhat out of character, but over the years I have come to see that anger borne of being passionate about justice is entirely in character for the compassionate Jesus. Alastair McIntosh expresses this beautifully in his book with Matt Carmichael, Spiritual Activism, in which he recalls a workshop he ran at Iona Abbey, writing, “There was a mismatch between theme and participants. Many were in groups that had come for a spiritual holiday and activism did not speak to their needs. Initially we had an uncomfortable time together. As one woman put it, “Your Jesus is not like mine. Mine is always gentle, kind, and a healer.” “So is mine!” said Alastair, “which is why he turned over the money-changers' tables in the temple, told the rich young man to give it all away and challenged hypocritical family values.”

On a similar note, the poet Khalil Gibran wrote, “Long ago, there lived a man who was crucified for being too loving and too lovable. And strange to relate, I met him thrice yesterday. The first time he was asking a policeman not to take a prostitute to prison. The second time he was drinking wine with an outcast. And the third time he was having a fist fight with a promoter inside a church.”

The late great Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, “There can be no justice without peace and there can be no peace without justice.” We see the painful truth of this statement in the conflict in Israel and Gaza, with its long and complicated history of injustices. 

It may be helpful here to explore what we mean by justice and peace. When Dr. Martin Luther King spoke of justice, like Jesus and the Hebrew prophets before him, he was speaking of social justice, of a fair and just world for all its inhabitants. Anglican priest June Boyce-Tillman, describing how the medieval mystic, Hildegard von Bingen, used the word justice, said, “Justice is right relationship between human beings and the natural world and the divine.”

The English word 'peace' is derived from the Latin 'pax' – related to pact, truce, and treaty – meaning the temporary cessation of armed conflict. The Hebrew word 'shalom' is usually translated into English as peace, but has a deeper meaning, encompassing wholeness, well-being, prosperity, safety, and soundness. In India, the word for peace is 'shanti'. Satish Kumar, the Indian-British peace activist and former Jain monk, wrote, “In India we pronounce peace three times – shanti, shanti, shanti – because peace has at least three dimensions: inner peace, social peace and ecological peace – making peace with yourself, making peace with the world and making peace with nature.”

What does shalom look like when applied to inner peace? Since inner peace is individual, this will be different for each of us. For me, inner peace can mean feelings of tranquillity and harmony, such as those I find in meditation and when walking in the woods and hills. “Contemplation of nature revives my soul,” as Christine Robinson said in her version of Psalm 19. And then there is 'peace of mind' – being comfortable in my own skin – this is an ongoing process of self-compassion and forgiveness.

I think that inner peace, social peace, and ecological peace all require compassion and forgiveness to bring healing and wholeness. To find inner peace we must practice self-acceptance and self-compassion, and forgive ourselves our mistakes. Social peace requires us to heal the wounds of society with compassion and forgiveness of each other. Ecological peace requires us to heal the wounds of the earth with compassion for all living beings. 

Justice is key to social and ecological peace. Most conflict in the world is about control and possession of resources – land, water, fossil fuels. We only have to remember the Gulf Wars, fought to secure the oil supply of the West, and the continuing involvement of Saudi Arabia in the war in Yemen is being fuelled by UK arms deals with Saudi Arabia, who provide us with oil. 

Competition for resources will become more intense as climate change progresses. In recent years Extinction Rebellion has become a world-wide movement demanding justice for our planet. Last year a group of Unitarians formed Unitarians for Climate Justice. 

The climate justice movement challenges our global economy that prioritises money over the welfare of future generations. It draws attention to the injustice of a situation which sees the worst effects of climate change experienced by the poorest peoples in the world, with the smallest carbon footprints, while in rich countries with the largest carbon emissions, we remain relatively unscathed so far. Members of Extinction Rebellion and other environmental protest movements use our righteous anger about injustices to try to change the world through peaceful means. This is the work of the warrior-sage archetype, which is present in religious traditions from East and West, from Taoism to Christianity. 

The warrior-sage tradition is particularly strong in Sikhism, the youngest of the major world religions, founded by Guru Nanak, who was born in India in 1469. Sikh-American activist Valarie Kaur, in her recent book, See No Stranger, writes that Guru Gobind Singh, the tenth Sikh Guru, “led Sikhs into battle against an oppressive empire and called us to become sant-sipahi, warrior-sages. When you love someone, you fight to protect them when they are in harm's way. If you “see no stranger” and choose to love all people, then you must fight for anyone who is suffering from the harm of injustice. This was the path of the warrior-sage: the warrior fights, the sage loves. Revolutionary love.”

How can we follow Jesus and St. David in being people of peace who use our righteous anger about injustice to help change the world through peaceful means? How can we embody the warrior-sage wisdom in the fight for justice in our own time? Valarie Kaur suggests we ask ourselves four questions:

First, what is your sword? What are the weapons you can use to fight on behalf of others – your pen, your voice, your art, your wallet, your presence? 

Second, what is your shield? What can you use to protect yourself and others when fighting is dangerous – your camera, your legal counsel, your allies, public witness?

Third, what is your instrument? Kaur explains, “In Sikh legend, our ancestors designed the dilruba, a string instrument small enough for soldiers to carry on their backs into the battlefield, so that they could lift their spirits in music, song, and poetry in the mornings before they faced the fire... Your dilruba can be what centers you – singing, dancing, drumming, walking, yoga, prayer, meditation.”

Finally, who is your sacred community? You just need three kinds of people. Someone who sees the best in you; someone who is willing to fight by your side; someone who can fight for you when you need help. “Bring them together,” says Kaur, “and you've created a pocket of revolutionary love.”

I am grateful for my sacred community of Unitarians and grateful that many of them are on the front lines of protest, but I confess that I am not among them. I can't deal with crowds, so I support from the sidelines non-violent civil disobedience, which has been key to achieving social change from Gandhi's campaign for Indian independence from Britain, through the civil rights movement in America to the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa.  As I understand it, the core of my Unitarian faith is the path of peace – learning to make peace with ourselves, peace with each other, peace with our God. It is not just a journey towards peace, but the road we travel.  

As I don't tend to join marches, I try to contribute to creating a just and compassionate world in other ways – my weapon of choice is more often than not my keyboard and broadband connection – I try to educate myself about social justices issues, and then I email my MP, and sign online petitions and share them on social media. I participate in interfaith dialogue as part of the Faith Network for Manchester. I support charities involved in the work of peace and justice on local, national, and international scales. This Lent, I am making a commitment to move my bank accounts so that my money is invested in more ethical financial institutions. 

I see the season of Lent as an invitation to simplicity. It inspires me to being grateful for and content with all I have, and to be attentive to and appreciative of the small changes happening in nature all around me every day. Saint David was a paragon of simplicity. The monks in the dozen monasteries he founded 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, rather than ale. Now I'm not suggesting that I adopt such as spartan lifestyle, but it has inspired me to consider my purchases and consumption habits carefully, and to try to make small changes where I can.

David said, “do the little things.” I believe that the smallest actions make a difference. Peaceful communication in our daily interactions and personal relationships is the most important way we embody justice and peace. Every time we see something from another’s point of view, we cultivate empathy, every time we treat someone else with respect, kindness and compassion, when accept one another and ourselves without judgement and condemnation, we contribute to building a just and peaceful world.  

“When I say go in peace, I mean “go in peace, seeking justice.” I mean, “go in peace, committed to equal rights and opportunities for all.” When I say, go in peace, I mean “Go in the peace that is created when, together, we build communities of true solidarity, deep compassion, and fierce, unrelenting love.” Go in peace.” Jim Magaw