9 The Moon of the Harvest
The Moon of the Harvest
AUGUST 13–SEPTEMBER 9
I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul makes its boast in the LORD; let the humble hear and be glad. O magnify the LORD with me, and let us exalt his name together.
It is neither asceticism nor vigils nor any other work which saves us; only sincere humility.
THE UNCONDITIONAL LOVE THAT CREATES TRUE COMPASSION
The eighth Lakota virtue is Waunsilapi, “compassion,” which is described like this: “Doing what is right in caring for others as you would yourself is what makes a person compassionate. One need not feel sorry for or sympathetic to anyone in order to live this virtue. In fact it is that inner strength that allows us to have the unconditional love that creates true compassion.”
This description of compassion brings to my mind that wonderful biblical passage about what is good and what the Lord requires of us: “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Mic 6:8). That is all . . . that is enough.
I certainly could use more of this “true compassion.” In our day we see lots of “compassion” that is not true compassion; rather it becomes efforts to boost our own standing in life. Lord Jesus, increase in me more of this “unconditional love that creates true compassion.”
THE HYMN USED AT OUR WEDDING
Last night I decided on an early morning hike in the canyon in order to avoid the heat of the day. As it turned out I rose before the dawn’s daylight had come. As I wait for the light which proceeds the dawn I thumb through an old hymnal, and quite by accident I come upon the hymn that was used at our wedding fifty-four years ago, “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” I quickly photocopy it and stuff it in my pocket.
Once the light of the day begins to come on, I leave, arriving at the canyon before sunrise. I am the first in the canyon today, so I make my way to a little amphitheater of log benches overlooking Pike’s Peak—“Sun Mountain” to the Ute people.
Alone, I sing the hymn, each verse taking me back to our highly anticipated wedding day so many years ago:
Come thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above;
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of thy redeeming love.
Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
Hither by thy help I’m come;
And I hope, by thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed his precious blood.
O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let thy goodness like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to thee:
Prone to wander, Lord I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for thy courts above. Amen.
I then proceed on my hike with the words of the hymn ringing in my mind and the music of the hymn in my heart. It makes for a good hike. I finish tired of body but bright in spirit.
YEARS OF SLOW, PAINFUL UNSELFING
Today I am reading a manuscript by author Paula Huston titled The Hermits of Big Sur. Extremely well-written and thoughtful. It explores the contemplative tradition through the lens of one particular community, New Camaldoli Hermitage, situated in the beautiful Big Sur hills overlooking the Pacific.
In my reading I came upon an insight from Huston that connects with my exploration into humility: “You do not become a contemplative overnight. In fact, to become holy and full of wisdom in this way requires years of slow, painful unselfing. Desires must be dealt with. Passions must be tamed. The mind must be trained. Humility must become second nature, a way of life. The Christian monastic tradition calls the outcome of this unselfing process puritas cordis, or purity of heart.”
Of course, my concern is to deepen my understanding of how this “unselfing” works in ordinary life. How can humility “become second nature, a way of life” for me smack in the middle of appointments and phone calls and the multiplied demands of daily life? Is it possible to experience a genuine unselfing here? These are the kinds of questions I hope to answer.
The contemplative tradition reminds us that seasons of solitude and silence are essential elements in the recipe for any genuine formation of heart and mind and soul. My heart yearns to see more of the fruit of unselfing in everyday experience.
A PRAYER OF HUMILITY
Today I have been meditating on a rather strange passage in the Hebrew Scriptures . . . the story of Jabez. His story takes up only two verses and there is no further mention of Jabez anywhere in the Bible. Here is the brief text: “Jabez was honored more than his brothers; and his mother named him Jabez, saying, ‘Because I bore him in pain.’ Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, ‘Oh that you would bless me and enlarge my border, and that your hand might be with me, and that you would keep me from hurt and harm!’ And God granted what he asked” (1 Chron 4:9-10).
In Hebrew this passage is a play on the word pain. The word jabez means “borne in pain,” his mother evidently naming him this because of the exceeding difficult experience she went through with his birth. I rather imagine Jabez suffered considerably from this name, ridiculed and teased by the other children mercilessly.
Some years back there was quite a stir over this prayer from a book written about it. Unfortunately, it became all tangled up in prosperity theology and missed the central point of the prayer.
This, in reality, is a prayer of humility. In this simple prayer Jabez is asking to be liberated from the consequences of his birth and his name. And I am impressed with the scriptural economy of words in describing the result of this humble prayer, “And God granted what he asked.” Wonderful.
STICKING CLOSE TO THE ROOT
I am sitting again with Thomas Kelly’s discussion of “Humility and Holiness” in A Testament of Devotion. Today he captures me with his double definition . . . first what humility is not and then what it is: “Humility does not rest, in final count, upon bafflement and discouragement and self-disgust at our shabby lives, a brow-beaten, dog-slinking attitude. It rests upon the disclosure of the consummate wonder of God, upon finding that only God counts, that all our own self-originated intentions are works of straw. And so in lowly humility we must stick close to the Root.”
I’m wondering about his insistence on “sticking close to the Root.” He is declaring unambiguously that the closer we grow toward God the deeper our humility. In another place he writes, “humility rests upon a holy-blindedness” . . . blinded to all other loyalties, only God alone.
Well, I am so very far from this. My loyalties are divided. I feel fractured and fragmented . . . no, I am fractured and fragmented. Purify my heart, O God. Renew my mind. Sanctify my imagination. Enlarge my soul.
I am encouraged by Kelly’s statement further on that “growth in humility is a measure of our growth in the habit of the Godward-directed mind.” Developing a “habit” of a “Godward-directed mind” . . . that is something I can work on.
A QUIET HUMILITY
Today we need to bring down five trees on our acreage. We have hundreds of fine Black Forest pines here and we watch over them carefully. These five have not survived the winter, and in our concern for fire mitigation they need to be removed.
I mourn a little every time a tree comes down. These trees have become my friends. I have even named some of them. In honor of the Victor Hugo novel I have dubbed one tree near the house “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” for its twisted hump, bent over but strong and growing. One weathered tree that is clearly the oldest and largest on the property I have named “Treebeard” in honor of J. R. R. Tolkien’s primeval Ents, trees who are the ancient shepherds of the forest. Carolynn named one tree after me, and I can sit out on our deck in the morning and watch it grow. Indeed, I watch them all grow for in their growing they are all doing the will of the Father.
This morning from the deck I am watching Robert cut down our five dead trees. I marvel at his skills. Long ago I did a little chainsaw work . . . but once I cut into my own boot with the chainsaw, my foot being saved only by the steel shank in my boot. That abruptly ended my chainsaw cutting days!
So, I am transfixed by Robert’s expertise with the winch, the chainsaw, the chipper, etc. He is a firefighter by profession and he seems right at home here in our woods, going about his work quickly and efficiently. There is a quiet humility in Robert that I admire.
BOTH, FROM DIFFERENT ANGLES, TEACH US
I am today thinking about different examples of humility in the New Testament. Jesus, of course, is the paradigm by which we conjugate all the verbs of humility. But there are so many other examples.
I think I would choose Mary as the example par excellence for deep humility of spirit. I’m thinking of her encounter with the angel. The angel’s message had to have been shattering to the young teenager . . . her, Mother of Messiah?! And Mary’s response is as pure a definition of humility we will find anywhere: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word” (Lk 1:38). What a lovely expression of the spirit of humility!
And Joseph. We do not have a single word spoken by Joseph in our New Testament. With Mary we have her marvelous “Magnificat”: “My soul magnifies the Lord . . .” (Lk 1:46-55). But with Joseph there is no speech, no declarations, no words at all . . . simply humble obedience. When Joseph learns of Mary’s pregnancy he is “unwilling to expose her to public disgrace,” and so he “planned to dismiss her quietly” (Mt 1:19). But then an angel of the Lord also visits him, this time in a dream. Having learned the true nature of Mary’s situation we read of his act of humility. “When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus” (Mt 1:24-25). A lovely act of humble obedience.
I like them both . . . Mary and Joseph. Both, from different angles, teach us about humility.
THE FLOWERS ARE FOR OUR SOULS
I am taken by the Lakota sense of beauty. It focuses quite naturally on aspects of beauty in nature. Kent Nerburn, editor of The Wisdom of the Native Americans, is an internationally recognized artist and so he is especially sensitive to the Native American expressions of beauty in nature. He observes their keen attention to the natural beauty of the earth. “I have seen in our midsummer celebrations cool arbors built of fresh-cut branches for council and dance halls, while those who attended decked themselves with leafy boughs, carrying shields and fans of the same, and even making wreaths for their horses’ necks. But, strange to say, they seldom make free use of flowers. I once asked the reason for this.”
“Why,” said one, “the flowers are for our souls to enjoy; not for our bodies to wear. Leave them alone and they will live out their lives and reproduce themselves as the Great Gardener intended. He planted them; we must not pluck them, for it would be selfish to do so.”
STRIPPED INCH BY INCH OF SELF-IMPORTANCE
This morning I am reading an essay on the radical spiritual vision of Clare of Assisi. One sentence struck me: “She [Clare] embodied Christian truth . . . as one who inch by inch was stripped of self-importance and earthly contrivances until there was nothing left except the skin and bone of her life lived out on an uncomfortable bed.” What a powerful description of Christian humility at its zenith . . . being stripped inch by inch of self-importance.
O Lord, help me to enter this way of living that is free of self-importance. But, please, I ask that you not bring me into such a reality by hurricane force; rather lead me into this way “inch by inch.” Thank you. Amen.
A NOOSE THAT STRANGLES HUMILITY
For some days I have been puzzling over the meaning of a Lakota proverb. The proverb is simple enough: “Poverty is a noose that strangles humility and breeds disrespect for God and man.” But why is it humility (of all the virtues) that is strangled by poverty? And what is it about poverty that strangles humility? On and on.
I am sure there is more for me to learn from this proverb but here is the understanding I have at present. All the virtues, and most especially humility, involve constant practice and attention. Poverty simply blots out all this focus. With poverty the overpowering questions are, “How will I find food for today?” and, “Where will I sleep tonight?” Questions of bare existence dominate everything!
Well, not always. Among the poor we discover virtuous souls . . . souls that exhibit deep humility of heart. I think of Viktor Frankl and Corrie ten Boom, both survivors of the Nazi concentration camps. They, and others like them, shine as beacons of light in a dark, dark place.
Still, the proverb is a reminder of the destructive character of poverty and how it can shrivel the human soul.
WOOD AND FIRE TEACHING HUMILITY
I am beginning to feel that wood and fire must have an interest in teaching humility! Nate decided to climb “Sun Mountain”—that is the Ute name. Most today know it as Pike’s Peak. He wanted to climb it from the backside using Craig’s Trail.
Well, I decide to help out. So, we tent camp near the trailhead. As the evening comes I build a fire. This I enjoy doing very much. First, I make a small teepee of kindling, adding larger sticks at just the right time, then finally logs until a good steady fire is burning, warming us through the evening. Often I stir the fire, keeping it burning just right. There is nothing more satisfying than cooking dinner over hot flames and simple conversation around warm coals until bedtime.
I enter the tent ready for bed . . . but soon I begin freezing, forgetting how cold it can get at ten thousand feet. All through the night my feet never get warm, so I arise early (maybe 4:30 a.m.) and build another fire. Ah, how satisfying is a hot blaze on a frosty morning.
I walk with Nate to the trailhead and wave goodbye . . . my days of hiking up Fourteeners are behind me. Later I drive around to the front side of Sun Mountain at Manitou Springs and take the Cog Railway to the top. Nate has made the climb in time to take the train down the mountain with me, just as we planned.
We drive back around the mountain to our campsite just in time for me to fix another fire for cooking supper and evening conversation. I gather the kindling and logs just right for the perfect blaze. Again, everything works exactly according to plan. I warm my feet by the fire until they are toasty warm, just right for protecting my feet from freezing through the night. At 6:00 a.m. or so I’m up and ready to build our final fire before breaking camp. But this time, on the fourth fire of our trip, I am in for a humbling surprise.
I arrange the leftover kindling in perfect teepee shape and strike the match. A fire springs up burning brightly . . . and then it begins to smolder. Ugh. I rearrange the small sticks and work more diligently at my small fire. It blazes up, burns for a short time, and then begins smoking heavily and ultimately goes out. “Probably we drenched the embers last night too much,” I muse.
So, I go at it again . . . and again . . . and again. By now Nate is up and takes his try at it. Same result. I take over again, concerned now to preserve my reputation as “the keeper of the fire.” The results are all meager and by now I have run out of kindling and have only a few larger logs left. We make do with a smoky fire to cook our breakfast. Eating around a smoldering fire we consider that the wood and the fire must have a mind of their own and that, whenever we begin to feel our superiority, the wood and the fire are there to teach us a lesson in humility!
PATIENCE AND HUMILITY
This afternoon I am considering the relationship between patience and humility. The context is common enough. I call a company to arrange for an appointment. The recorded message is always the same. They are so glad I called, they assure me that my call is important to them, they tell me how wonderful their company is, and they assure me that someone will be with me soon. Then I must endure annoying music for ninety seconds . . . and then the recording starts in again. Same message: my call is important to them, their company is the best anywhere, and someone will be with me soon. Then the ear-deafening music again . . . if you can call it music. After twenty minutes of this I hang up frustrated and ready to curse the personless voice on the other end.
That is with a good call. There is also the other kind that forces me to go through a full menu of options, none of which fit my needs . . . and never, ever allows me to actually talk to a human being. I quickly learn that I utterly lack the patience it takes to work my way through our modern techno phone maze. Plus, I am frustrated by the abuse of people’s time and energy this system produces.
Patience and humility. They are, I think, cousins in the pantheon of virtues. I have decided that my patience quota is low indeed.