Sacrifice and Healing

Station 11-by Monica J BrownToday is Good Friday, the day we remember Jesus’s death. We enter into a three-day period of waiting for a very bad situation to turn good.

In this season we talk about Jesus “giving his life” in order to save us, but what does that mean? I preached about this at St. James last Sunday, and what follows is the core of my sermon, edited for this blog. This is me, trying to internalize some of the content from Greg Love’s book, Love, Violence and the Cross: How the Non-Violent God Saves us through the Cross of Christ.

Given and Taken

On the one hand, Jesus gives himself to the task that God has placed before him, to confront the evil that he sees in the world; to reach out with compassion to broken people and to lead them to wholeness and healing; to build community by his forgiveness and grace.

Jesus lives his life as a gift to the world, aligning his will with God. His life is a gift, but is his death a gift?

Jesus gets killed by the Roman Empire in a gruesome horrible way. I don’t believe this is something that God ever wanted. God does not want us to crucify one another. I can’t believe that God would even want Jesus to be crucified.

And yet, people do kill each other. Crucifixion was common in the first century, and equally brutal things exist today. We human beings behave in horrendous, horrific ways. And somehow God has to deal with that fact—has to deal with the ugliness in our lives, the brokenness in humanity.

Jesus offers himself, yes, but he also gets taken, by violence, by the Roman Empire. God has to redeem that somehow. And God does. Easter happens.

But how can we understand the sacrifice of Jesus’s life? What is our relationship to that sacrifice and how can healing come out of it?

If we turn to Old Testament biblical understandings of sacrifice, we’re turning to ideas developed in a culture different from our own; it is centered around temple sacrifices. We’re challenged to find meaning in the old and bring it into our current setting. The New Testament writers did exactly that, trying to interpret Jesus’s death in light of their scripture.

Gift Offerings, Communion Offerings, Sin Offerings

In the bible there were three ways to make a sacrifice at the temple. You could make a gift offering, where out of your gratitude you would give something to God completely. It would be totally burnt up on the altar.

The second kind of sacrifice was a Communion offering, where an animal was offered up and the blood and fat was burnt up but the meat would stay behind and the people would then eat that with God. They would have a communion meal with God. They would meet God at the temple and have community with each other and with God.

The third kind of sacrificial offering is a sin offering, in which a pure unblemished animal is offered because the “pure” blood is seen to contain pure life. And so the blood has the power, as a representation of pure life, to cover over broken life. This is where we get the ideas of being “washed” in the blood. A whole life, a pure life, can cover over and heal a broken life.

An animal sacrificed as a sin offering was never offered as a substitute for the one who sinned. The animal’s death was not a punishment. Instead, the act was understood more as a transfer of the pure life force of the animal to cover over the impure life of the sinner.

A sin offering was an act of healing in what I would call a magical way. It was not a punishment for sin. It initiated a change in the life of the sinner who then had to turn their life around.

How can we glean something from these ideas which come to us from a different era and culture and how can we develop a new understanding, as people living in this day and age?

And my related question is, however we understand what was happening then, in this week when we commemorate the death of Jesus, how do we participate in the salvation that comes to us through Jesus Christ?

Gift Offerings: Transformation through Letting Go

The Gift Offering, which probably began with the giving of the tithe, comes out of a sense of gratitude and dependence on God. You give in order to release it completely. You get nothing back from that offering, except the experience of letting go, of giving to God completely.

It’s as though we are saying, I have received this and I release it back to you. I give this to you God and it’s a sign of my relationship of dependence on you, of gratitude to you.

This offering is not like what the Prosperity Gospel says. Some Prosperity Gospel people will preach, “plant a seed—give away some and God will pay you back and give you more money or more of whatever you’re offering.”

That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s not giving something so we can get more stuff. It’s giving so we can be changed as people. So we can have the experience of letting go and releasing.

There’s a way that we, in this act of emptying ourselves can experience fullness. When people talk about Jesus emptying himself, giving his life on the cross, he did that not to a point of depletion, but he did it in a way that he becomes, ultimately, fully filled, completely filled with God. In theological language this emptying that Jesus does is called kenosis. Becoming completely empty so that he can become completely filled.

And in our spiritual practices we can do this kind of offering too, in which out of our gratitude we practice letting go and not clinging on to the things that we want to have more of in our life. But realizing that we have enough.

Not only do we have enough stuff, but there is love for us, and there is God for us, and there is community. This gift offering is a kind of devoting of our lives to our relationship with God. We want to give it all.

Communion Offerings: Transformation through Relationship

The second kind of offering is the Communion Offering. This is what we’re doing with the Lenten Soup lunches at St. James Church. The person bringing the soup also eats the soup, right along with everyone else. We do this every week at Grace Commons when we share a meal after our Spiritual Practice. This kind of offering has a goal of building connection. It’s not about building palaces or building fortresses. It’s about building connections and building community. This is what a communion offering does.

Now Jesus embodied that in his life all the time, in the way that he offered himself to the world. The way that he sat and ate with sinners, prostitutes, tax collectors, people with illnesses, and all kinds of people. He ate with everyone.

Jesus was always offering his life to create this communion, this community. And of course at his last meal he gave us the new commandment to love one another as he had loved us and as he loves us now in a new form, and to share the communion meal.

So we do these communion meals ritually in a church, but we do it in our lives too. I invite you to think about how you can make more communion offerings in your life. Would it be inviting someone or a family to your home to dinner? Or maybe it would be going to someone’s place and bringing something to them, sharing dinner with them. How can you offer yourself and your resources toward the building of relationships? The more you do it, the more you might be transformed.

Sin Offerings: Transformation through being covered with Life

The third kind of offering is the sin offering. The question I have about this is how does a whole life, a wholesome, full life, cover over a broken life? How does pure blood heal bad blood, when we get bad blood in us?

Bad blood is when we begin to be filled with envy or greed or shame or fear or pride or arrogance or righteousness. How could pure blood heal that? How does a broken life get lifted up in healing?

The sin offering covers the brokenness with wholeness, we can become “covered in the blood” as many gospel songs proclaim. A similar idea that might help understand this is that we become clothed in Christ at our baptism. This is another form of “covering.”

In some traditions, people act out being clothed in Christ by wearing all white at their baptism. A more extreme expression of this is when people get baptized naked. They leave behind their old clothes, get baptized, and when they rise out of the baptismal waters they get white robes, symbolizing they’ve now put on Christ.

But more metaphorically, how do we get clothed in Christ? This getting clothed in Christ is not accomplished by acting like we’re more holy. It’s not an attempt to look like we’re more Christ-like. It would be a mistake to get self-righteous about it—that would be a way to stick with the bad blood and not get the new blood.

Getting clothed in Christ is not to hide the truth of who we are and pretend that we are like Christ. It’s to discover who we really are inside. When we clothe ourselves in Christ it’s to help us to realize that when God looks at us God sees the beauty of Christ in us. God sees the image of God in us. Because God created us with that image imprinted on the very core of our being.

The idea of getting clothed in Christ is meant to help us find and remember who we really are. Because we forget who we are. We forget that we’re precious, that we’re beloved. We forget that we have the image of God in us somewhere.

A sin offering is a call to heal our lives, in whatever way we need to do that. We may need to confront the shame and the fear and all those bad blood things I named above.

We have to become aware of those parts of ourselves that are broken or weak and get the help we need to heal ourselves. Whether it’s through trusted and trustworthy friends, or whether it’s through counseling, or whether it’s through prayer practices, or through getting books that could guide us through these kinds of healing processes.

To make a sin offering is to attempt to turn our lives around. When a pure animal was offered as a temple sacrifice, that wasn’t enough to fix the problem. That wasn’t enough to cover over the sin. You don’t just keep covering and covering and re-covering the sin again and again.

You have to change something underneath. And so with the sin offering there is a call to re-pentance, a call to re-thinking what you are doing, how you are living. That’s what repentance is. Repentance involves re-turning toward God. It’s re-aligning your life. And the sin offering calls for that kind of realignment. In that re-turning toward God we are being transformed from the inside out.

Paul said, It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And that’s about being changed from the inside out. That’s about inviting Christ and the awareness of Christ into us. And finding the deep deep love of God for Christ and in Christ, in us!

God said to Jesus in his baptism, “You are my beloved son.” If Christ lives inside us, then we too are beloved. We are beloved of God. And so putting on Christ can help us realize that true deep identity of ours.

The pure life of Christ covers us—not to hide us, but to heal us. Wholeness calls to wholeness and Christ draws out the beauty that is in us.

Hold on to that hope, as we journey toward Easter.

Sacrifice and Substitution?

I received two notes last week on the day I posted about “Restoration not Retribution.” The first one was from a man who beautifully and articulately described his Christian faith in God and Jesus, along with the Christian practice of communion and its meaning in his own life.

He just couldn’t believe that Jesus died as a sacrifice for our sins or that God would demand such a death. And so he worried that he might not be Christian. I think his experience and concern is a very common one. The idea that Jesus sacrifices himself in place of us and pays our debt to God has (unfortunately) become synonymous with Christianity for many people.

How we think about God and Christ matters, but being Christian doesn’t depend on believing in substitute sacrifice. Some people will disagree with me about that, and that’s okay. I also disagree with them.

The second note I received that day was from a respected colleague, also a Presbyterian pastor, who felt that my piece had a quality of “slap down” of people who do understand Jesus’ death as a substitute sacrifice. I took his critique seriously. Even though I need to keep writing what I am writing, I need to be more thoughtful about my tone.

I reread my piece from last week and did edit one short sentence in which I regrettably called the ideas I was taught as a child “ridiculous.” It did imply, although I wasn’t thinking about this, that people who believe those ideas are also ridiculous.

Writing from my own pain led me to be too extreme in my language. So I edited that sentence to say that the ideas “seemed crazy to me at the time.” That might still seem too judgmental, but I don’t yet know a better way to say this and convey the emotion I have about it. Part of my emotional reaction to it is from being told that I am not Christian because I don’t believe those ideas.

The other great point that my colleague made was that we need to be presenting the alternative theologies, the different ways to think about and understand the crucifixion and resurrection. I agree! And so I promised him that I would keep working on this as a project.

Lent and Holy Week, and even the Easter season seems a great time to continue reflecting on some of the many ways Christians can understand God’s saving work in the world.

Last week I wrote, “If you don’t accept the idea that sacrificial substitution works as a mechanism in the universe, then this explanation of God will never make sense to you either.” I got this idea from Greg Love, a professor at the San Francisco Theological Seminary.

love, violence and the crossProfessor Love (whose name fabulously reflects his work), wrote a book called “Love, Violence and the Cross: How the Nonviolent God Saves Us through the Cross of Christ.”

He systematically works through eleven different ways that Christians understand God’s work of salvation. As part of that he talks about the “strengths and weaknesses” of each theory and why different theories make sense to different people.

I was lucky to get to study with him for a week in January this year, with a group of pastors from around the country who gather each year for intensive bible study.

Professor Love made the point that to believe that Jesus died as a substitute for us on the cross, you have to believe that substitute sacrifice “works” as a concept. This helped me understand myself better– I don’t believe in this larger paradigm. It was helpful to name that.

In his book, Professor Love divides the eleven theologies about salvation into three categories. The first category is Penal Substitution, in which God saves the world through violent means as Jesus takes the punishment we deserve. Salvation happens through redemptive suffering and through paying a debt owed.

The second category, which includes 4 different models, God saves the world through love, service, and community embodied in Christ in his life and resurrection, and in the Holy Spirit after the resurrection. Salvation happens not in or through the death of Jesus, but in the life that happens before and after the death.

The third category, which includes 5 different models, the salvation happens through the work of Christ and the cross plays a role–but Jesus does not substitute for us, and God does not require payment for our sins. God is understood as nonviolent and unambivalent in God’s love for us.

One of the things I found helpful in the book was Professor Love’s explanation of the multiple kinds of sacrifice practiced in biblical times. Biblical sacrifices included gift offerings, communion offerings, and sin offerings. Understanding these biblical practices can help us understand how the New Testament writers interpreted what happened to Jesus.

That’s about all I can squeeze into one blog post. But I hope you’ll follow along with future posts! And take a look at that book…

Restoration not Retribution

The first time I encountered the season of Lent a friend of mine invited me to attend his church. I was not a Christian, I thought. I had left the church of my childhood, renounced it, because I had learned that being a Christian was primarily about ideas. And they were ideas that I couldn’t accept. They seemed crazy to me at the time. That the death of someone I never knew could somehow save me from a danger I didn’t face.

If you don’t accept the idea that sacrificial substitution works as a mechanism in the universe, then this explanation of God will never make sense to you either. Not in the way it was presented to me, anyway. I don’t believe that there is a God who requires payment. My God is not that commercially driven. She is not a pay-per-failure kind of God.

God does not ticket us for parking in the wrong place. We have the civil authorities for that, and they do a pretty good job of it. God, on the other hand, wants love, not restitution. God offers restoration not retribution. But I didn’t think that this God was present in Christian churches, until that first Lent.

BreadedIt was a strange land, that sanctuary I went to with my friend. They spoke a language I didn’t know and sang songs that sounded odd to my ears. But they invited me to share a meal with them and it was an invitation extended to me without reservation and without requirement. This bread is for you, they said. This cup is for you, they offered.

And the meal began the relationship, with that community, with that culture, with that God—who turned out to be a God of restoration and love. Who knew you could find that God in a Christian place? It was news to me.

Vulnerability

labyrinthLast week we walked the labyrinth at Grace Commons, contemplating the burdens we carry with us into Lent. We picked up a stone as we entered and carried it with us as we wound our way toward the center of the labyrinth.

Such a simple act, but so powerful. If you’ve never done it, you can’t imagine how it could touch you. Even I, who have walked a labyrinth so many times, was surprised when I felt myself drop into a different state of mind, carrying my stone, focusing my eyes down on the winding path, walking slowly, brushing past many other people on the path.

Suddenly, the vulnerability that I was feeling in my life rushed to the surface of my consciousness and I felt the fatigue in my shoulders. I didn’t have words for this and I didn’t need them. I felt the small stone in my hands, and I noticed all the sensations in my body. I felt tears come to my eyes as I relaxed and allowed myself to feel what I felt.

But I was not alone in that. “We are on a journey together” was not just an idea at that moment. It was something that we entered, lived, embodied.

When we arrived at the center of the labyrinth, we left our stones there in a tight pile, and picked up instead an unlit candle to carry back out. Another person described afterwards how her attention shifted when she carried that unlit candle and went out from the center of the labyrinth. She began to focus on new possibilities.

Our vulnerabilities are an essential part of our human experience. While our culture tends to want us to cover them up, to act like everything is fine and we are all doing “great,” Jesus, on the other hand, invites us to acknowledge our vulnerabilities, to enter into a vulnerable space with God at our side.

According to the Gospel of John, on the night of his arrest Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. Foot washing was common in Jesus day, but it was the servants who washed the feet of guests, not the master of the house, or the master teacher.

For many of us the idea of letting someone touch our feet, let alone wash them, is uncomfortable. Why is that? Pause here and try to understand that in yourself.

For me, I think the discomfort comes from the radical vulnerability of letting a part of our body that we usually keep covered get uncovered. It’s hard to imagine letting someone touch and wash a part of our bodies that is less than perfect, possibly dirty and probably smelly. And I have one really messed up toenail, too.

I don’t want people to see that part of me that is messy and out of control. I don’t want to burden them with any discomfort they might feel about my feet. And I don’t want to feel the discomfort of my own shame.

Imagine Jesus rushing right in to address and transform that feeling. There is no shame in letting others care for us, Jesus shows us. There is no shame in letting God love us in spite of our dirty feet and our perpetual failure and lack of perfection. In fact, this is how we have a relationship with God; we let God wash us. We let God nurture us.

God invites us into an intimate space where there is honesty about who we are and what we feel. We don’t need to hide from God. In fact, God is trying to coax us out of hiding and convince us to let Her care for us.

If we can allow that vulnerability, it will make us so much stronger in the long run.

Let Lent Be About Love

red flower in ashYesterday was Ash Wednesday, a day to remember our mortality and begin our 40 day journey toward Easter.

It seems like a good idea to acknowledge our vulnerability as human beings. We are so breakable. And I mean that physically, spiritually, and morally. To be marked with a gray ash sign of the cross harkens back to days when grieving people covered their heads in ashes. If you think about it, that is such a powerful metaphor of grief. On Ash Wednesday, we grieve our losses, and sometimes we grieve our mistakes.

Grieving our losses comes from a place of love. We grieve the loss of what we have loved, and sometimes of the things we have taken for granted. Sometimes it is a person we have lost and sometimes it is our own health. We are mortal and finite, and to have a beginning means to have an end. Sometimes it brings us sorrow and grief, but it is all wrapped up and intertwined with the amazing gift of life and our capacity to love, to know, and to be known.

The traditional words, when receiving the mark of the cross on our foreheads, have been “Remember that you come from ashes and to ashes you shall return.” It is a sobering thought and we grieve our losses.

But sometimes we grieve our mistakes, and that’s a whole different thing. Some of our limitations don’t have to do with our mortality, but with our humanity. We are creatures, after all, who have impulses of self-protection that sometimes short-circuit our generosity, our honesty, our trust, our openness. Suddenly we find ourselves “bending” the truth, keeping the bigger piece of pie (literally or metaphorically), slamming shut the gates of our hearts, being snippy (or worse) with our loved ones, and rude to people we don’t know or don’t notice. This is something to grieve!

Grieving our mistakes comes from a place of love, if we let it. Grieving our mistakes means we want something different. We want something better. And so it means turning toward the grace and compassion of God which is buried somewhere deep within us. It means letting go of what we have done, letting go of our guilt and our grief and letting God love, forgive and welcome us in to a fuller embrace.

Let Lent be about love this year. What is the newness you are longing for? What would it take to begin practicing that in your life?

God continually calls us to re-think (re-pent) and re-turn (turn again) to God. In turning again toward the God of Love, we turn away from our brokenness (or we pass through it) and journey on toward the new life of Easter, the hope of beginning again, the blossoming of a new season. And that’s what Ash Wednesday can begin. It’s the first step, and only the first step, on a fruitful journey to greater wholeness.

Wanna walk toward Easter together?

You may also be interested in my Ash Wednesday blog post at Patheos from two years ago: I am topsoil and to topsoil I shall return.

Marriage Matters

These are the words I spoke today in support of changing the constitution of the Presbyterian Church (USA) to allow for same gender marriage equality in our denomination. The overture passed at the Chicago Presbytery by a large margin and will now be sent to the national General Assembly for debate and vote this summer.

As you read it, read slowly, allowing yourself to contemplate the questions I ask here. I think that’s part of what makes it meaningful–my invitation to you to think about the meaning of marriage in your own life.

I know that not everyone can relate to this, but many, many people who are making decisions about marriage equality have had the opportunity to be married themselves. I hope this testimony meant something to them.

~ ~ ~

My testimony today is a personal one, because our theology and our polity have personal implications.

I’m preparing for my wedding, which will be on May 3rd, and which gives me great joy. On that day the State of Illinois will consider it a Civil Union, but on June 1st, with Marriage Equality, it will become a marriage, and my marriage license will be back-dated to May 3rd.

Any of you who have walked down the aisle in a wedding dress, I want you to remember what that felt like. How did it feel seeing your beloved waiting for you, looking at you coming toward them?

And if you, on the other hand, stood waiting, watching your beloved walk toward you, looking luminous in her wedding dress, what did you feel? Did it matter that you were going through this ceremonial act? Did you tear up on that day, or get a lump in your throat, or a flutter in your stomach? Can you remember?

antique trainMyself, I cried when I first put on the wedding dress that was the dress for me. It is my wedding dress and I will be married in it. I’ll walk toward my beloved and she’ll walk toward me.

We’ll make public vows about how we’ll be faithful to each other, committed to our home, to our families, to our neighbors, and to our God.

Marriage matters. It provides a foundation of relationship and mutuality in our society. It sets an expectation of fidelity and commitment. It’s about love and companionship and affection. It’s about letting my life become our life.

Family matters. Love matters. Marriage matters.

And the church can work for it or against it.

A Dynamic Faith

Baptismal Song

“Baptism” by Shawna Bowman

About ten years ago I got an email about Grace Commons (then called Wicker Park Grace) that said this:

Before our discussions I naively thought that Christianity was a one dimensional theology with minor shifts in beliefs across denominations; and I definitely thought that it did not coincide with my own world view. However, after each discussion I feel a deeper connection to Christianity as a dynamic faith and feel an overwhelming sense of well-being and connection.

Christianity as a dynamic faith! That was such a great way to describe what Grace Commons was about–trying to reengage the dynamism that has been Christianity since its beginnings. Libraries have been filled with the conversations, the longings, the struggles, convictions and explorations of this faith.

Unfortunately, far too often, Christianity has been locked up in a box and presented as simplistic and one-dimensional, as the person who sent me this email said!

A dynamic faith is a faith about which we think. It engages both our hearts and our minds. It changes and deepens as we change and deepen, because we become more equipped to live what we believe, and to discover what we believe based on how we’re living.

A dynamic faith changes us. And a dynamic faith changes as we change. Hopefully, as we grow, we grow wiser. That, I think, is what we’re all trying to do.

Listen to Your Life

veggie stand

Road-side veggie stand in Massachusetts

“Listen to your life.
See it for the fathomless
mystery that it is.
In the boredom and pain of it
no less than in
the excitement and gladness:
touch, taste, smell your way
to the holy and hidden heart of it
because in the last analysis
all moments are key moments,
and life itself is grace.”

-Frederich Buechner

I have two more days of my sabbatical, as I return to my church work on Sunday, September 1st. There is a lot that I am still doing on these final two days…continuing to purge, organize, and clean my house; writing on my fiction project (a young adult novel); making improvements to my blog, celebrating my just-announced-yesterday engagement to the love of my life (yay!), and practicing deep breathing through it all.

I have been listening to my life for 10 weeks, and contemplating how I will remember to listen to my life when the responsibility of a full-time job with two faith communities hits me on Sunday.

My life depends on my capacity to keep listening to it. This means listening to my body–noticing when I am hungry or tired, or when I am breathing only shallowly. It means listening to my emotions–noticing what I am feeling and what happened to trigger those feelings. And it means listening to my spirit–noticing when I am in need of silence, nature, blue sky, love.

My life depends on listening to my life. Because when I don’t listen, life begins to seep out of me. When I don’t listen to my life, I begin to lose it. I begin to forget who I am, or why I am here.

Not that I’m always sure of who I am or why I am here. But when I listen to my life, I do a lot better job of living it.

Never Ready

writing retreat

My writing retreat

Yesterday was my last full day on writing retreat. As soon as I post this reflection, I will get into the car for the long car ride to Tennessee for a few days with my parents, 2 sisters, 1 brother, all their significant others, and a variety of nieces & nephews.

As much as I love my family I am not ready to leave this place. Of course, I was not ready to leave home to come to this place either! It seems I am never quite ready for the next thing.

Transitions are hard, especially when they involve letting go of something that we love.

This retreat has been so good for me. I love the beautiful rural setting here. I’ve begun writing a novel! I’ve gazed at beautiful flowers, rested, gone for a couple of great long walks, had a short vacation in Boston with Andrea (who flew out here to Massachusetts from Chicago), and had long talks over delicious meals with my host and beloved friend, Ani. I’ve also helped Ani launch a website, learning reams of things that I’ll use to improve this one.

It’s all been so healing and important. But maybe the most important thing has been learning (practicing?) to trust my heart as a writer as I step out into the world of fiction writing.

I’ve been using this book, The 90-Day Novel, by Alan Watt, and it’s stupendous. One of his points that I keep repeating to myself and trying to trust, is that there is a story in me that wants to tell itself through me. He doesn’t say it that way, but that’s the gist of it.

I have been wanting to write a young adult novel for years and years and years. So now I am feeling my way into that. It’s definitely tied to my vocation as a pastor and teacher and artist. I’m letting the characters of my story meet each other and I’m playing with them a little to see what’s brewing inside me…

And speaking of brewing, I have a new post up over at Nanette’s Kitchen about my on-going adventures in Kombucha Brewing.

And now…onward in the journey. Ready or not, go!

Simplicity

art space

I purged piles of junk to turn this back porch into an art space. I need more open spaces in my life.

Letting go, letting go, letting go…

One of my goals for sabbatical is to clear out my home, to purge, to let go of years of accumulated papers, books, unused dishes, candlesticks, unfinished projects, empty tins/boxes/containers, unworn clothing, extra blankets, overworn sheets, yellowed pillow cases, garish towels, etc, etc, etc.

So many ethical questions come up in this process. I have two competing value systems at war within me. On the one hand, I have my Grandpa Sawyer’s basement in mind, where he saved every bolt, screw, and scrap of wood because it might be just the item he would need to complete a project. He was the one who made a cider press out of an old motor, bent nails, wood pallets, and a cranking jack to grind and press a hundred pounds of apples at the back door of the cellar. This contraption was one of the coolest things I have ever seen and the memory of that apple cider still fills me with delight. That golden cider would pour out into buckets and was the sweetest stuff I have ever tasted.

Things can be reused, see? They can be repurposed.

I think this is a wonderful attitude, and one that has lost too much ground in our over-abundant North American, 21st Century context. We consume too much and I am part of that. Sometimes we could use what we have more effectively.

On the other hand, “time is money” a friend told me recently, and I don’t have time to fix all the things that need to be fixed. I often “don’t have time”, but have sometimes “made time” to go to the hardware store to find the two oddly sized screws that will allow me to salvage the old vaporizer instead of throwing it away and buying a new one for $20, simply because the poorly selected original screws corroded within a year.

Or maybe those screws were selected purposefully…for planned obsolescence. It makes me so frustrated, and I know it’s a trap to make me buy more new things. But I fall into the trap, time and time again.

Save, or discard?

Take the time to fix it, or (more realistically?) let it go? Or, slow down more often and spend more time maintaining my physical world (stop wasting?)?

A great meditation teacher of mine once said that our “stuff” is not our problem. (She was responding to people complaining about dealing with the clutter in their lives.) She said our problem is our addiction to “dealing” in stuff. Our addiction to stuff.

I felt the resistance rise up in my chest. No, I thought, my problem is my stuff. But as I reflected more, I realized she was right.

I can purge my life right now, on my sabbatical, but if I just re-start the system and begin accumulating new stuff, then I’ll be back in this situation again in 5 or 10 years. So I have to ask myself some underlying questions about my addiction to dealing in stuff.

When will I ever have “enough” of anything to be happy? This includes stuff, but it also includes time. Am I running from “here/now” to an imaginary place where everything is easy, beautiful, and abundant? Sometimes I don’t need more, new stuff to get to my imagined future. Perhaps I need to adjust my perspective.

And the second big question is, when I am finished with something, why is it so hard to let it go? Can I trust that the present and the future will supply me with what I need, without clinging to the past?

How can I find ease, beauty, abundance, in here, now? How do you?