Leaping over Bulls

The connection was unmistakable, and I moved in closer to listen. He was speaking of his love for an ancient mural (a man leaping over a bull) and explained how it had served him well throughout his childhood. Learning issues had plagued him throughout his childhood, and then a teacher at his boarding school suggested that he not write a paper but makesomething. Working with his hands to create a model of what the other students were writing about awakened something within him that eventually led to a successful career as an architect. Like the childhood mural, he had learned to leap with the bull.

As someone with a learning difference, I know well the struggles at school. More than that, however, as a minister I know the countless bulls that come charging at us as we seek to live lives of faith. They lower their heads and come charging whether we are ready or not, and our first thought is to charge right back (or stick them with a spear). The ancient wisdom captured in the mural suggests a more excellent way. Maybe it’s a sudden health issue, a job crisis, or a devastating blow to a relationship, bulls come in all shapes and sizes. Instead of charging, perhaps we need to learn how to leap.

I can’t help but think of the alcoholic who surrenders rather than lives another day trying to control his drinking and finds new life while twirling in the air above the bull. I think of the couple who had to navigate a new job that required regular international travel. It leads to “sporadic honeymoons,” as they call them, around the globe. I also think about the small, struggling company that found great success when they grabbed the horns of new technology and became a virtual giant.

Earlier this year, the struggling student got to see the original mural. With tears in his eyes, he could see how it had saved his life, and I couldn’t help but see how learning how to leap over bulls had saved mine, and maybe yours, as well.

Leaning in and listening.

“Now there was leaning on Jesus' chest one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.” John 13:23

“Pay attention.  Be astonished.  Tell about it.” Mary Oliver

It was an unusual detail to mention – a disciple leans into Jesus – but it led to a distinct spiritual tradition that has much to teach us today. In Ireland, a religious community sought to follow the example of John, or the disciple who leaned into Jesus, and live lives where they leaned into Christ and listened for God’s heartbeat. Of all the spiritual practices, I’m not sure there’s a better one than this.

I remember when my daughter put her head on my chest as we watched a movie. “I can hear your heartbeat, Daddy,” she said. It made me smile. It was as if we were one.

It takes intention to lean into God, and it takes discipline to listen for God’s heartbeat. There are countless people, places, and things calling for our attention, and it takes effort and practice to lean into our relationship with God. So, too, it’s difficult to hear God’s heartbeat. But it’s there. With our ear against God’s chest, so to speak, we can hear the soft steady beat of God’s heart.

Thump, thump . . . you are not alone.

Thump, thump . . . I’m right beside you.

Thump, thump . . . follow me, I’ll lead you to a more excellent way.

All we have to do is lean in and listen.

 In what way could you lean into God today? When have you heard God’s heartbeat in your life?

“And what if all of animated nature

Be but organic Harps diversely fram’d,

That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps

Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,

At once the Soul of each, and God of all?”  Coleridge

Get Painting!

Her house was a dream come true. Everything was neat and tidy, and in the kitchen and closets there were labels for everything. “There’s a place for everything and everything is in its place,” she said proudly. I was as troubled by the organization as I was inspired. I felt there was room to breathe, but also felt suffocated.

I remember a time when I was setting up a new studio. I bought shelves and containers, as well as labels and sharpies. I spent weeks putting my pastels here and oils there, while also making sure my books were arranged by subject in descending height order. When I was done, I remember a friend’s reaction: “So, have you done any painting?”

Regardless of whether we’re artists or not, the desire to organize and make sense of the world affects us all. We desperately try to put the people we know and the things that happen into a system that brings a sense of order. There are all sorts of containers and labels. The problem comes when we run out of containers, or our sharpies run out of ink. Eventually, judging every person, place, or thing, or feasting on the newest gossip stops working. Creating stories or surrounding ourselves with people with the same world view only gives us temporary breathing room. Organizing life in such ways reduces life’s complexities. We spend so much time making sense of our lives we don’t live.

I have a friend who likes to say we need to “live with the questions,” and another who says we need to “live in the mystery.” It sounded New Age to me when I first heard it, but I’ve come to embrace its truth. Instead of finding a box for every person, instead of creating artificial explanations, instead of ignoring contradictions, I want to accept the incongruities and embrace the messiness. Instead of organizing, I want to get painting.