Michael Seiler

Tag: Self Worth

  • A Child’s Reflection

    “Stop acting like such a child!” 

    “Grow up!”

    “You’re so immature!”

    I’m sure we’ve all heard those phrases before, either because we said them to someone else, or they said them to us. And we all know exactly what those words mean when we hear them. We want people to behave more rationally, to be more responsible, to quit being so emotionally reactive to events that do not go their way. 

    There’s a story about an old man giving advice to a younger man about the battle of good and evil within him. I’m sure you’ve seen it either on social media, or had someone tell it to you at some point in your life. The story is about two wolves, and the one that wins the battle, the story says, is the one that a person feeds the most. I’d like you to take the general idea of this story, but instead of two wolves doing battle for your soul, I want you to think of two children. Because within each of us are two children that are battling for our souls.

    The first is the angry toddler. The one with tiny hands, grabbing everything he can get his hands on, and greedily yells, “Mine!” He thinks of everything as a transaction; if you scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours; right up until he doesn’t like your backscratching anymore, and at which point he will run off and find someone else to take your place. He blows up when things don’t go his way, or he doesn’t get what he wants. He blames others for all of his problems, because nothing is ever his fault. When you finally catch him or confront him, he lies, he cheats, or accuses you of blowing things out of proportion. A royal pain, a child that is spoiled rotten to the core. 

    It’s this kind of behavior that we see in the letter from James today. It might be more grown up, and hidden better from the eyes of those watching, but the same attitudes and vices that the young toddler never learned to control are now running rampant in the grown adult, coming out as envy and selfish ambition. And that leads to disorder, and wickedness of every kind. And James makes it clear that these conflicts come from the “cravings that are at war within you.” And worst of all, he ends the thought with the command that people should purify their hearts, because they are double-minded. That is, James recognizes that we have the choice to make decisions between the good, and the bad, and that the battle rages between the selfish, angry toddler within us, and another child.

    There’s another meme that’s been making the rounds on social media recently, which says this: “Silence is golden. Unless you have kids. Then, it’s just suspicious.”

    And this we see in the disciples today in our Gospel passage. People we now call saints, but at that moment were still behaving like spoiled little toddlers who wanted what they wanted, and were willing to argue about it.

    Jesus and his disciples were passing through Galilee, and as they were walking, the disciples were arguing about who among them was the greatest. That is, they were displaying the old “King of the Hill” mentality, wanting to be better than the others, propping themselves up at the expense of the other disciples, so that they could claim the title as “greatest.”

    And when Jesus asks them what they were talking about, they suddenly get really quiet. I’m sure they suddenly got real interested in shuffling dirt with their toes, or the pretty birds that were flying, or even, “Look, a squirrel!”

    So Jesus has them sit down with him, and says to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

    Now, we like to make this passage about welcoming children, because it’s cute. Who doesn’t like children? And besides, we really do need to welcome children as though we are welcoming God into our midst, but this passage was more directed at the attitudes and desires of the disciples, because they were portraying the general tendency of the toddler within us.

    You see, when they were arguing about being the greatest, what they were arguing about was the trappings of fame, namely the adulation, the freebies, the positions of power at the feasts and banquets, the ability to get people to do things for them, or to sway people with their words. They were arguing about vanity and petty pleasures. They wanted all those trappings of greatness, but they didn’t actually want to do the work of truly being great. 

    Moreover, by arguing which one of the disciples was greater than the others, they were willing to get that fame and greatness at the expense of others. That is, they just wanted to be considered greater than the other disciples. Again, they wanted the status, but not the work of being actually great. 

    And that’s why Jesus tells them that to be truly great, they must be a servant of all, and welcome even a child.

    Now, there’s a bit of cultural and linguistic explanation we need to go over here right quick, because Jesus has made a play on words here – a dad joke, if you will – as well as made a reference to the social standing of the people in this dialogue.

    First, the words in Greek for child and servant or slave are very similar. So Jesus telling the disciples that they need to be servants of all, and then pulling a child into their midst is making the connection between those two words. The second bit of information we need to know is that children, until they could truly be put to work, were considered an economic drain, just another mouth to feed, so they were often treated as servants; as gophers, runners, people to do the menial tasks, to help out in minor ways. Once they grew up enough to be of assistance, they were put to work, and given the rights and privileges you would expect of a member of society.

    People generally didn’t think of kids as a way of getting ahead in society. They paid no attention to those kids, because what you needed in order to be great in society was people who would agree to the transactional terms of your need for greatness. They could offer you political clout, financial support, or protection in exchange for whatever you gave them. Children, especially little children, were of no political value whatsoever. They could do nothing to help you become great in the eyes of the world.

    And so when Jesus has made the play on words with the servant and the child, and tells them that they need to welcome a child, he is basically asking, “Are you willing to serve the servant?” “Will this child become just as important to you as the Kings and presidents, governors and minor nobility?” And more than just this child, the question really drives down to the heart of the matter, which is the dignity of every human being. “Will you welcome anyone, that is, everyone, in my name? Will you welcome even those who are of no benefit to you politically, socially, or financially? Because if you welcome this child, or people like this child who can offer you nothing on your path to greatness, you may very well be welcoming God.”

    For those of you who have been anxiously thinking that I’ve only mentioned one child that is at war within us, you can rest easy.

    We all can recite the story of creation, and we know that we have all been created in the image of God. Which makes you, me, and everyone, a child of God. And so when we look at those people who cannot support our mission, or help us toward our goals, or move us closer to the greatness we desire, we must stop and reflect on the fact that they, too, are a child of God. What we see before us is a reflection of Christ – the same Christ that is within us. We should see them as a reflection of ourselves.

    This child of God, this servant spirit, this child that sees Christ within every person, regardless of their social standing, their current status, their health or financial stability, is at war with the angry toddler that just wants his own way.

    Now, to be ambitious is not a bad thing. To want to be great is not a bad thing in itself. The question is how are we willing to get there, and what is our final goal? Is it about elevating ourselves, or about elevating others? Is it about placing ourselves above others, or about bringing others to an equal level? Is it about our own status, or is it about serving the Christ that we see in others?

    When we are able to humble ourselves to serve the servants, to serve the children, to serve those who cannot help us in any way to meet our own selfish desires, then we will have found the path to true greatness, because it is in those moments, with those people, that we often find ourselves standing in the presence of God.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on September 22, 2024.]

  • The Way Home

    One of the phrases that’s popped up in conversation for me over the last several years is people referring to themselves as “spiritual, but not religious.” This phrase has always caused me to scratch my chin and ask, “What do you mean by that?” 

    The reason for my confusion is that by our very nature as humans, we are spiritual beings. Every person has an inherent spirituality. Spirituality is merely our attempts at making sense of the nonsensical, or of taking the mystery out of the mystical; it is our attempt at bringing order to the chaos that is our existence. Sometimes we take the random things that happen in our lives and we ascribe meaning to them, and other times we assign meaning to the coincidences and near misses in our lives. It’s been going on for centuries. Look at the goddess Fortuna, or the Fates, or the Norse god Freyr. Making sense of the nonsensical is what we do as humans.

    So, to me, for someone to say that they are “spiritual, but not religious,” means that they are saying something to the effect of “I’m a human being.” 

    Of course, I’m being deliberately obtuse with my own question, because what people generally want to convey with that statement is that they simply do not subscribe to any form of organized religion, and prefer to find their own method of making sense of the world; that they do not find any meaning in the structures others have created, but prefer to create their own order within the chaos.

    John O’Donohue says that spirituality is “the art of homecoming,” by which he means that we are all trying to find a place within our own lives where we find peace, comfort, and serenity, if even for a moment. A place where we are comfortable to be ourselves; a place where we are not pushed around by the hurts, the mistrust, the urgent requirements, the oughts, and shoulds, our past regrets, or future worries. Spirituality is a way of finding in us the beauty that is ourselves. When we enter into that place, then we have come home, and from that place of peace we are able to gather the energy needed to find the love, the patience, and the joy to make positive changes in our lives. This has nothing to do with religion, though O’Donohue himself was a practicing Christian, and former Catholic priest.

    Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk and teacher, says something very similar. The task of meditation and mindfulness is to bring us to the present moment, where all of our past regrets, future worries, the mistrust, the hurt, the anger is put aside; it is, in a sense, coming home to the body, to ourselves. Then, when we have attained that moment of presence within ourselves, we can bring those things to mind that need further examination, and can deal with them out of a sense of tranquility, so that when we leave that space within ourselves and enter into the world outside, we can engage with others with more peace, with more confidence, and with more tranquility. Though he was a practicing Buddhist, this too had not much to do with organized religion, and focused more on finding that space within that gave us the energy to confront the space without.

    And this, of course, is what most people wish to convey with the phrase, “Spiritual but not religious.” They hope to convey that they have found that space within themselves that affords them this sense of peace and tranquility.

    I had a conversation with someone this past year, in which the person told me that they are in a state of constant anxiety. They blamed their upbringing, they blamed their parents, their job, their relationships. They even blamed people like me – religious types who have “gone all in” for our religion, flawed though that religion might be in their judgment. When I said that I had found a measure of peace and tranquility in my religion, and that they should give it a shot, I was told that they had already tried my religion, and that it didn’t work. 

    In fact, this person had tried almost every major religion; they had tried various retreats and philosophies; they had tried meditation practices, treatments based on the latest scientific studies, and even therapy. Nothing had worked. To which I mentioned that in my time of knowing them, I had seen them dabble in many things, but never pick one and follow through with commitment and determination. I said that each religion and philosophical practice (including therapy), offers at least the hope of enlightenment, and so they ought to pick one, follow it with determination and commitment until they reach the end, and see if enlightenment is waiting for them there.

    Then came an odd sort of confession. Apparently, they had been told the same thing by a monk at a retreat center almost thirty years ago. And, they claimed, they had done just that in the years since. My response was brief: if I’m saying the same thing to you now, thirty years later, then it’s obvious that you have not followed a path to its conclusion; instead, you’ve continued in your path of dabbling.  

    We dabble in what can bring healing and wholeness, by choosing only what feels good, avoiding those things that don’t feel good, and spending time in this space until we determine that the promise of a more complete wholeness has not materialized – generally when that promise of wholeness involves dealing with things we find unpleasant. We dabble in spiritual niceties, and avoid stepping over the threshold of the difficult and painful. 

    In an interview with Krista Tippett, John O’Donohue speaks very deliberately about thresholds in our lives, places where we begin to look at ourselves more critically, where we begin to understand ourselves more deeply, and where we enter into the beauty of wholeness. But it takes a willingness to allow ourselves to be “threshed,” to be separated from our past patterns and behaviors in such a way that a new wholeness and beauty emerges from the depths of our being. In other words, it is not an easy choice, and it needs to be a deliberate one.

    And this is where those who practice Christianity can be dabblers as well. We can be so focused on living up to the standards that those in our communities have set, that we focus on the “looking good,” rather than on the “becoming.” Because “becoming” involves “threshing” and becoming involves pain and suffering; becoming involves looking into the void, the depth of our regrets and the lengths of our errors, and finding meaning where there appears to be none. We dabble when we try to live up to the things our religion seems to demand but avoid the prompting of the Holy Spirit to transform our lives.

    There are those who are religious and not spiritual, just like there are those who are spiritual but not religious.

    And there are those, both practitioners of a particular religion, as well as those who are spiritual but not religious, that examine their lives, sit with these painful, embarrassing, or unhappy memories, and allow those moments to sprout forth new meaning and joy.

    Our tendency as humans is to avoid suffering, and that means that we even avoid thinking about painful things, about embarrassing things, about things that cause inner turmoil. But our nature as humans is also to make errors, to say things that are hurtful to others, to do things that are not beneficial to ourselves, and, in general, to just foul up good things.

    We should not cover up the pain. We take care of it. To ignore or suppress the pain would be doing violence to ourselves. Mindfulness is us, but the painful feeling is also us. There’s no fighting. This is the view of nonduality.

    When we avoid going home to ourselves, we allow our pain to grow.

    Thich Nhat Hanh1

    To truly find peace, we must accept that we are flawed, we must consider ourselves as “whole” and acceptable, just as we are, warts and all; we are not merely good, or just plain bad; we are a muddy whole. And when we have accepted that we are not the super heroes we make ourselves out to be, then we must allow those painful memories, those regrets and failures to “thresh” us, we must allow them to enter into our minds and into our lives where we can examine them, and allow them to till the soil of our being so that they produce that promised wholeness. 

    When we do, that is when our lives begin to double, and failure and defeat produce peace and joy, rather than pain and anxiety.

    1. Reconciliation: Healing the Inner Child, Thich Nhat Hanh, p. 148 (Kindle Edition), Parallax Press, 2006 (The link to this book is an Amazon Associates link. I receive a few pennies from Amazon if you purchase this book.)

  • The Heavy Burden

    Daily Office Readings – Gospel ( Luke 13:10-17 )

    These past few weeks have seen a lot of protests concerning the persistent racism in this country. Those protesting have pointed out that the amount of racism hasn’t changed, but what has changed is that technology has helped to bring it to the light.

    One of the posts on my Facebook feed recently was an article about three police officers who were fired after their patrol car camera recorded their discussions about wanting to kill black people in a coming civil war, and denigrating fellow officers who were black. After they were dismissed and the situation came to light, one of them said that he is “not a racist,” and “doesn’t normally speak like that,” but that he was just “feeding off of” the other officer.

    This police officer jumped head first into self-justification, making the claim that essentially amounts to “but it wasn’t my fault, because __________________.” This captures the essence of what we all jump at when confronted with our own shortcomings.

    After last week’s post, I decided to reread “Desert Wisdom” and ran across a saying from Abba John, the Little:

    “We have abandoned a light burden, namely self-criticism, and taken up a heavy burden, namely self-justification.”

    Desert Wisdom, Sayings From the Desert Fathers, p 7

    We attempt to diminish our own responsibility for the things we have done. We expect people to understand our situations because we have explained away our behavior as something caused by external forces and by things beyond our control.

    This is that heavy burden. Because when we seek to justify ourselves we have to look at the truth of the situation and are confronted with the very real and stark truth that we screwed up. Our moral compass has decided to spin like a fan, when instead it should have been pointing diligently in the direction of the right, and the good.

    When we choose to justify, we are required to ignore the truth. Every justification becomes another little lie, a lie of omission, that we pile upon our backs, to be dealt with on another day. And we don’t dare put down the pack to look at these things, because then we will need to confront them all over again. And the more we justify, the heavier the burden becomes, until at some point all of our actions and decisions in life are guided by these untruths we tell ourselves in order to feel better.

    When the Jewish leaders called out Jesus for healing a woman on the Sabbath, he simply looked at them and called them hypocrites, because they too were used to working on the sabbath by taking their livestock to feed and to drink. To their credit, rather than giving him some sort of excuse as to why they did these things, they were “put to shame.” In other words, they realized their guilt.

    Will we be caught? Will we be called out for the heavy burden we carry, or will we choose to pull them down off of our backs and examine them until we come to an understanding of our own shortcomings and wrestle with them until we have defeated them? More often than not, it takes being caught, or being called out, before we even realize the little lies we have been telling ourselves.

    But once we have been made aware, once we have come to accept this criticism of our very selves, then we can move on, and the load we carry will truly be lighter.