7 The Moon When the Berries Are Good

7 The Moon When the Berries Are Good

The Moon When the Berries Are Good

JUNE 18–JULY 15

If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land.

If God supplies you with some gift, beg him that he might teach you how this gift can help you progress in humility . . . or else beg him to remove the gift from you so that it might not become the cause of your downfall.

THE FRUIT OF LOVE

The sixth Lakota virtue is Icicupi, “sacrifice.” Here is how this virtue is described:

Sacrifice is giving of oneself. The fruit of love is sacrifice. In the beginning the Creator sacrificed itself to make all that there is and through this humble act we can understand the significance of offering ourselves. In order to accomplish anything, one must be able to make a sacrifice. Whether it be the small sacrifices of your daily life or major sacrifices of your lifetime, we all reap what we sow by this fundamental act. We sacrifice our time and effort every day just to get things done but on a larger spiritual scale we can give of ourselves and give back to the Creator.

“The fruit of love is sacrifice.” I genuinely like the tying of love to sacrifice. This understanding is one thing that will keep sacrifice from degenerating into destructive expressions. Love is a well-reasoned concern for the good of all; hence sacrifice that flows from love is life-giving to all.

THREE DISTINCT EXPERIENCES, THREE SIMPLE LESSONS

This morning I leave before sunrise for a hike in the canyon to avoid the heat of the day. On the way I come across a wild mother turkey with five babies in tow. Five. Wow! A new sight for me.

When I arrive at the canyon, I notice that nearly all the early summer wildflowers have now disappeared . . . done in by summer’s heat. But I discover two notable exceptions. On the canyon rim the sunflowers are opening up with a burst of yellow petals, which are constantly stretching out toward the sun.

Once down in the canyon I am greeted by a wonderful spread of western spiderwort flowers. These one-inch-wide blossoms are most distinctive. Without fail each blossom has three deep purple petals and in the center are purple stamens that support bright yellow anthers. On hot days these plants will tend to open up in the morning and close down as the afternoon heat comes on. Hence, as I pass by their blossoms are stretching out wide and their purple splendor dominates the landscape.

Three distinct experiences, three simple lessons for the spiritual life. The mother turkey watching over her young is a lesson in sacrifice. The sunflower constantly turning into the light is a lesson for us to be ever turning, turning, turning toward Christ, our true light. And the royal purple of the western spiderwort is a lesson reminding us of Christ’s royal rule among his people.

PAUL’S EXAMPLE OF HUMILITY

Today I am studying Paul’s example of humility in his missionary travels. I’m especially taken by his words to the Ephesian elders who he asked to meet him along the coast as he was making his way to Jerusalem. He knew he would not see them again and he told them so. When they gathered, he spoke to them, “You yourselves know how I lived among you the entire time from the first day that I set foot in Asia, serving the Lord with all humility and with tears, enduring the trials that came to me” (Acts 20:18-19).

The word Paul uses here is tapeinophrosynē, literally “lowliness of mind.” I decided to look at some of the other translations I have in my library to see how different translators have handled this word. Above I quoted from the NRSV. Here is the result of my little search of other translations:

The paraphrase rendering of The Message, “laying my life on the line,” adds an interesting dimension to tapeinophrosynē. Well, I long for more of this “lowliness of mind” to be manifest in our day.

When Paul finished speaking to the Ephesian elders, we read that “he knelt down with them all and prayed. There was much weeping among them all; they embraced Paul and kissed him, grieving especially because of what he had said, that they would not see him again” (Acts 20:36-38). Such overwhelming love and care they shared with each other. Oh, may our churches today exhibit such love and care.

THE THREEFOLD IMPRINT OF THE SPIRIT

Tonight I am intrigued by Evelyn Underhill’s discussion of the three distinguishing characteristics of a life that is acting out of an “immense depth” of God working on the soul: tranquility, gentleness, and strength.

In The Spiritual Life Underhill tells us that she is borrowing this insight from Saint John of the Cross, but she unpacks it in ways that are uniquely Evelyn Underhill. She writes, “Tranquility, gentleness, and strength, carry us through the changes of weather, the ups and downs of the route, the varied surface of the road; the inequalities of family life, emotional and professional disappointments, the sudden intervention of bad fortune or bad health, the rising and falling of our religious temperature. This is the threefold imprint of the Spirit on the souls surrendered to His great action.”

Now, Underhill is not here writing as someone enclosed and protected in the cloister but as a woman smack in the middle of the push and shove of early-twentieth-century London life.

She continues on to interpret this “threefold imprint of the Spirit” in fuller detail: “Thus there is no tendency to snatch another’s work, or dodge dull bits of their own; no cheapening sense of hurry, or nervous anxiety about success. The action of those whose lives are given to the Spirit has in it something of the leisure of Eternity; and because of this, they achieve far more than those whose lives are enslaved by the rush and hurry, the unceasing tick-tick of the world.”

“The leisure of Eternity” . . . I know so very little of this divine leisure. Lord, show me, teach me, lead me into such a life.

“Rest, my child, rest. You have nothing to do but to rest. In time I will show you how you can work resting.”

THE NARROW TRACK WHICH LEADS UP AND OUT

Underhill next shows us the other side of the coin. At the very time we are discovering the outward marks of tranquility, gentleness, and strength we are also engaged in “the effort and struggle of the interior life.” Inwardly we experience “the pain and tension which must be felt by imperfect creatures when they contemplate and stretch towards a beauty and perfection which they cannot reach.”

Underhill explains that this “beauty and perfection” is like a magnet drawing us in. This inward journey “means effort, faithfulness, courage, and sometimes grim encounters if [we are] to respond to that attraction, and move towards it along the narrow track which leads up and out from the dark valleys of the mind.”

Interesting . . . these seemingly contradictory experiences of outward calm and inward struggle. I’m wondering if perhaps I need to engage in a double search for this summer season. First, watching to see to what extent I actually exhibit the outward marks of tranquility and gentleness and strength. And, at the same time, observing to see to what extent I sense the inner struggle which “draws us out of darkness into His great light.”

One question: Should I record everything I am learning or is it better to avoid disclosing private introspection? I’m inclined to hold my pen: some experiences are best kept between God and the soul.

HUMILITY AND HOLINESS ARE TWINS

This morning I decide to secure Andrew Murray’s Humility: The Beauty of Holiness. Over the years I’ve read a good number of Murray’s writings and at least one was on the topic of humility, but this particular linking of humility with holiness felt like a fruitful line of thinking. So, I pulled the trigger and bought it . . . the huge investment of $7.99.

Since I do not have Amazon Prime, I am ordering it via snail mail and it will take a week or so to arrive. I rather favor the delay . . . “instant” material on humility seems a little odd. So, it is yet to arrive, but even before arriving the subtitle stimulates my thinking about the relationship between humility and holiness.

Anyway, as I am waiting for Murray’s book, I pick up Thomas Kelly’s A Testament of Devotion. Even though I have read this slender volume many times I never fail to receive something life-giving from its pages. Randomly I flip to his discussion of “holy obedience” and come upon these words, “The fruits of holy obedience are many. But two are so closely linked together that they can scarcely be treated separately. They are the passion for personal holiness and the sense of utter humility.”

Kelly goes on for several pages unpacking the symbiotic relationship of these two. Then he pulls me up short with this surprising assertion: “humility and holiness are twins in the astonishing birth of obedience in the heart.”

I am struck to the core. Yes, of course. Kelly is spot on. And this is exactly my Achilles heel. Today I feel far removed from holiness of heart and mind and soul. My thoughts are prodigal, wandering far from God. A line from an old hymn surfaces to my consciousness: “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; / Prone to leave the God I love.” Yes, that describes me. And then Kelly places his finger right on the remedy: “Growth in humility is a measure of our growth in the habit of the Godward-directed mind.”

Then too vanity and human arrogance always look for an opening into the human heart. Kelly exclaims, “O how slick and weasel-like is self-pride!” So, how can we conquer the self-conceit and egoism that eat away at the soul? Kelly again, “Only the utterly humble ones can bow and break the raging pride of a power-mad world.”

So, today I pray, “O Lord, purify my heart.” Scripture reminds us that the pure in heart shall see God. And Kelly adds, “More, they who see God shall cry out to become pure in heart, even as He is pure, with all the energy of their souls.”

May I see God! May I grow into the purity of heart that allows me to see God safely. Today. Tomorrow. All the tomorrows that are in the future.

THE HIGH PLACES

I am continuing to read Jeffrey Ostler’s The Lakotas and the Black Hills: The Struggle for Sacred Ground. The Black Hills (He Sapa to the Lakota) are one of the most extraordinary landscapes of the Great Plains. Rising four thousand feet above the plains like an immense oval, 120 miles long and 50 miles wide, it is a forested island in a sea of grass. Of course, we today know the area for the giant granite carvings at Mount Rushmore, but many other high places abound: the Cathedral Spires, Black Elk Peak, and a bit northwest is the volcanic neck of the Black Hills known to us today as Devils Tower and to the Lakota as Mato Tipila, meaning “Bear Lodge.” There is an interesting story behind this Lakota name, but I want to keep my focus on the high places in the Black Hills.

Of supreme importance for the Lakota is that these sites have sacred significance as destinations for young men and women to engage in a “vision quest.” As best I understand the Lakota vision quest it involves three core elements.

Solitude. This involves removing oneself from all social interaction, cultural roles, routines, habits and the expectations of others. The individual says farewell to all human authorities— parents, teachers, peer groups, and all social media—and seeks to become attentive to the guidance of the “Great Spirit.”

Nature. Whenever possible this is in a wilderness setting so that the individual can focus on returning to intimate relationship with the earth itself. Physically, it means leaving behind roads, houses, and all forms of the humanly created world. Hence, the importance of “the high places” so the individual can enter the older world of nature where the earth can awaken forgotten senses and atrophied ways of perceiving.

Fasting. In fasting the person on a vision quest refrains from the normal function of eating in order to engage in intense spiritual activity. Here the person is open to an encounter with the transcendent, with Wakan Tanka, the “Great Spirit,” to use Lakota language.

The purpose of the vision quest involves discovering direction, gifts, purpose, and vision for life. Sparrow Hart writes, “In a vision quest, the rules, roles, and routines of normal life are left behind, and—in both simple and profound ways—we experience a resetting of our compass, a renewal of the core truths and commitments that serve to guide us through life.”

Listening to and learning from Lakota teaching on the vision quest is an act of humility on our part. To be sure, I would take issue with the pantheistic strands that can be found in the Lakota teaching on the vision quest. But I also want to allow that Christ, who is the true light that enlightens every person coming into the world, will come to honest seekers and bring them light for their journey (Jn 1:9).

A SPECIAL GIFT

I’m beginning to discover a special gift of humility—a growing ability to be teachable. I’ll take this as a great freedom.

THIS NEW DOUBLE WAY OF LIVING

A good word (a prayer really) comes from G. K. Chesterton:

O God of earth and alter,

bow down and hear our cry;

our earthly rulers falter,

our people drift and die;

the walls of gold entomb us,

the swords of scorn divide;

take not Thy thunder from us,

but take away our pride.

I am especially taken by the final lines, “take not Thy thunder from us, but take away our pride.” The thunder is needed for us to continue going through life with courage against the evils that plague modern society. But we need to learn to do so minus the arrogance and pride that so often accompany “thunder.” So, Lord, teach me this new double way of living . . . never surrendering to evil and never rising up in hubris.

THE ABSENCE OF ALL PRETENSE WHATSOEVER

I sit this noon hour in a small café I like to seek out now and again. It is a bit of a distance from where I live. But I take the time to come here because I enjoy the people. This is a rural community, mostly ranchers and farmers. I like to sit and watch the customers, most wearing Levis or overalls . . . hardworking and closely tied to the earth. Now, I don’t want to overromanticize—they can swear freely and carry on the heated angers and pettinesses you will find most anywhere.

But what I like here is the absence of all pretense whatsoever. No vanity or strutting. No efforts to impress or show off. It makes me feel comfortable here even though I do not share their lifestyle. They simply accept me at face value. We can talk freely about the weather and the price of grain and a host of trivia. Of course, I mostly listen, for they dwell in a world I can see and understand only from a distance. I can even share with them that I write books (which I seldom do) and they merely nod and say, “That’s nice,” and quickly return to topics that touch them viscerally. I like this. I enjoy sitting here in an environment free from pretense. It seems to cleanse my soul!

AN UTTER SIMPLICITY

I rise early today and decide to hike in the canyon once there is sufficient light. It is a glorious day with clouds hanging low and an early mist descending and watering the grasses . . . perfect for hiking. I am alone in the canyon except, of course, for the wildlife. In one field I spot a wild turkey, a female. She is by herself, which is rather unusual in my experience; normally, when I see wild turkeys, they are traveling in groupings of a dozen or so.

This female seems oblivious to anybody or anything, slowly scratching and pecking her way through the field. An utter simplicity seems to envelop the scene. I certainly would not want to ascribe the virtue of “humility” to a wild turkey in a field but the scene was completely devoid of any grasping and grabbing for position or status. I watch for a time and as I watch I feel my own grasping and grabbing slowly slipping away.

This is one reason I like coming here. In the woods I sense that the trees and the birds and the creatures of the earth are all doing the will of the Father. The creation has most certainly been affected by the fall; nevertheless, creation continues to reflect back something of the goodness of God. I revel in the goodness of the creation.

TWO VERY DIFFERENT BOOKS

Today I begin reading two very different books on Lakota life and history. The larger book (Lakota America, 530 pages) is written by Pekka Hämäläinen, who teaches American history at Oxford. Immediately I could see that this is a serious work of history, but I wonder why someone who hailed from Finland would take up the topic of the Lakota culture, a topic so far removed from his own culture. And I wonder what kind of twist he might give to the subject.

The smaller volume (The Lakota Way, 240 pages) is authored by Joseph M. Marshall III, who was born on the Rosebud Rez and whose first language is Lakota. I must say he certainly gained a first-rate mastery of the English language somewhere along the way as his storytelling is wonderfully evocative.

I am immediately drawn into The Lakota Way, but I do hope to gain from the approaches of both books. I imagine I will be reading in these two books for several months and hopefully some insights from them will find their way into these pages as I go along.

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