A fearless love of life

The most beloved compliment I've ever received was from my brother, John. He told me that he admired my "fearless love of life."

It has always stuck with me, perhaps because I've never seen myself as particularly fearless. (By the way, see my companion post from a few years back starting with this same compliment.)

Recently, a colleague of mine introduced me to a podcast called Invisibilia. It is produced by NPR and focuses on the invisible forces that shape our lives. The particular episode I listened to this evening was on the topic of fear. 

Not to overshare about the episode, because it is definitely worth a listen, but they come to the semi-scientific conclusion that people who are biologically more fearful are less likely to be involved in fear-inducing situations, yet see those fewer experiences as very traumatic. Conversely, people who are less fearful are less traumatized by the more frequent number of fear-inducing situations they experience.

That was the moment I became hooked; when they posed the question (after thoughtful, thorough and entertaining examples) of whether it is better to be fearful or fearless. 

I have always loved that one (and maybe all) of my big brothers saw me as being fearless. It was a badge I wore with pride once I was made aware of it -- and it was something that fueled me past my comfort zone when jumping out of an airplane, among other risky bets.

Perhaps I am biologically built to take on 'scarier' experiences with greater grace than the average Jo(sie). Though I was then made to question that supposition as I listened to the podcast explain that most fears are learned rather than inherited. For instance, kids are not instinctually afraid of snakes. The narrators take a fairly long byway on the snake topic but it's worth hearing the SNL-esque "Snake in a sock" sound effect, and the thought-provoking idea that snakes are "sailing around on currents of our fear" based on skydive sweat tests. 

Anyway, after the snake-subject meandering, I wasn't quite as confident that I was just naturally fearless. People can learn to conquer their fears. Which, I suppose doesn't negate that you might be born more, or less fearless than the next person.

But the really, really, really interesting part to me was when the podcast concluded. 

I sat in reflection and recognized how happy I was to have had my insight horizons broadened by this 60-minute podcast. Because I've given up pop music in favor of Christian music for Lent, the song that started playing in my mind was, "...Blest be the Lord, Blest be the Lord. The God of mercy, the God who saves."

And then I literally chuckled out loud when my inner speaker continued to the next line: "I shall not fear the dark of night, nor the arrow that flies by day."

Maybe my fearlessness is a bit natural, a bit learned, and a lot intentional blessing for the purpose God has in mind.

A whale of a tale

There’s an old saying about worries or cares being like having a monkey on your back. Yoga is sometimes referred to as the practice of quieting the monkey brain. The visual is not hard to grasp – a pesky, distracting monkey constantly turning your attention from whatever is before you, to instead satisfy the Curious George at your back.

I also love the pop song, “Shake it off” – though I don’t mean the Taylor Swift version. I mean Florence and the Machines: “It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake it off.” But come to think of it, Taylor’s song is pretty similar in intent: “Haters gonna hate-hate-hate-hate-hate. You just gotta shake it off, shake it off.”

There was once a man named Jonah. (Josie, seriously where are you going with this, now?)

Jonah was being called by God. I’m paraphrasing here but essentially God was saying, “Hey, go over to that town Nineveh and tell them to quit being so sinful. They’re doing all kinds of stuff that you know I don’t like. Please be my hands and be my voice and tell them to stop and find peace in me.”

If you’re familiar with the tale, you know that Jonah runs away to hide from the Lord’s call but God, ever clever and snarky, has Jonah get swallowed up into a fish (technically a mammal) that delivers him via express-whale to the shores of Nineveh. Jonah eventually does as God commands and tells the people of Nineveh to repent. They listen and their lives are renewed.

The story is one that I’ve known since I was a child but I may have never really heard it. How familiar is the experience of something tugging at your heart but your mind tells you to run far, far away. Then, just when you think your head is about to be buried in the sand, God upends the situation and you come face to face with it. “Do I say the thing I’m struggling to stifle?” “Do I offer up the help I’m scared will be rejected?”

It strikes me that Nineveh was the monkey on Jonah’s back. And while he was trying to just shake-shake-shake it off, God had a plan.

Nineveh is still a land of consequential actions, being situated on the shores of the Tigris River in Iraq. As recently as this week, ISIS soldiers were terrorizing the people of Nineveh Province.

I wonder if there might be some modern day Jonah trying to shake off a call from God to go serve His people in Nineveh. And can you imagine a bigger whale than ISIS to drive that Jonah to their shores? God be with you, Jonah. And a moment of thanks to realize my own monkey is not so hard to carry, quiet and 'shake it off' by answering God's call.

A Spirited Run

I’m not a runner. Well, technically I trained for a 5K and completed it with only a few walk breaks but I think there’s a reason you don’t see 3.1 car stickers. Anyway, because I’m not a runner I’ve never experienced the delightful-sounding “runner’s high.” That moment when you transcend sidesplitting, shin-aching drudgery to a Zen-like oneness with your path.

I have however known the enjoyment of being so engrossed in an enriching activity that it felt like I was “in the zone.” Things were just flowing, my body was an extension of my mind and they were in perfect harmony. Man, that’s an awesome sensation.

There’s also the uniquely satisfying feeling of epiphany. That aha moment when an insight strikes. Two previously uncorrelated ideas come together in a magnificent pairing that just makes sense. Once you’ve thought the thought, you can never un-think it.

What I find interesting about all of these situations is that they often follow what neuroscientists and human behaviorists would describe as a struggle-struggle-exasperation-burst sequence. When we quit trying to control the outcome and instead give in, that’s when the subconscious magic happens.

You’re running, you’re running, you’re hating life, you’re running, you’re running, and out of nowhere all is well in the world.

You’re encountering resistance to your project, you’re trying to find new alternatives, you get ready to start a new task and suddenly you find you’re knocking the project out of the park.

You can’t figure out the solution, you pull an all-nighter just turning the problem over and over in your mind, you finally opt for a shower and boom, the answer stares you in the face.

While all of this is fascinating (IMHO) you may be wondering what it has to do with spirituality. Indulge me a few minutes more.

It was Friday. Since I give up meat every day (though technically I’m vegetarian by choice, not as an act of devotion) I had decided that this Lent I would give up dairy and eggs on Friday as a special sacrifice; I’d be a Lenten Vegan.

While I wasn’t fasting per se, eating food without cheese is super boring so my lunch had been pretty basic. Then it was time for daily Mass at 5:30 and the act of kneeling plus fewer (and blander) than usual calories paired with a high-pitched hum in the back of church left me feeling tired. Exhausted, really.

I offered up my fatigue and acknowledged that I had enjoyed more food, more sleep and less stress than many millions of other people in the world that day. I kept on “churching,” and suddenly the hum became an energetic vibration resonating within my very being. The feeling of exhaustion became surrender and I released that pesky trait of trying to keep the whole world in order all on my own.

My hunger and tiredness became an invitation to experience the Mass differently. In that moment the scripture readings took on a different tenor, the pleasant smiles of others in the pew took on greater warmth. My environment was changed because I was changed. I knew that I was unequivocally at the right place at the right time. Or more truly, at His place at His time.

It wasn’t a complete transformation. Let’s be honest, about 35 seconds after this blissful moment my stomach growled, my back ached and I pulled my coat around my shoulders to fight off the chilliness of a sparsely attended church.

But I could still savor that moment when I let go, and let God. It was the taste of a spiritual runner’s high. (And for the record, it was way better than cheese.)

Where have all the Prophets gone?

Late-90s singer Paula Cole pondered about the loss of rugged cowboys. My question is less relationship-related and focused instead on the mouthpieces of God. Those great, enlightened sages like Isaiah and Ezekiel. Judging purely by the antiquity of those names I'm led to ask, Where my prophets at?

Spoiler alert: The answer is under your nose. Literally below it by about an inch.

Most tales of the prophets may be just that; tales. Exaggerated fish stories. I don’t say that to diminish the importance of prophets nor their message. My point is simply that prophets, like Jesus, were humans. Dudes and dudettes placed on this very Earth. 

What was unique about prophets was their ability to share the revelations born of their relationship with God. We’ve heard that God has spoken through the prophets (heck it’s in the Nicene Creed) and I believe that. But should we assume that prophets were extra-holy? Extra-human? Free from error?

Surely there are examples of prophets contradicting one another. So, what? Does that mean God is a flip-flopping hypocrite? Or does it mean that just like recording a song and playing it back over MP3 versus LP versus Spotify, the replay quality degrades. It’s imperfect. When God speaks through humans it’s not God “live” – it’s God “on-tape.” 

So how do you get access to a live recording? PRAY!

Each one of us can call upon that ultimate holy musician and listen quietly for the sometimes imperceptible (though sometimes booming and clanging) voice of God. And then we go out and tell our story. We talk about our relationship with God and the promises it reveals. We become prophets.

Now I’m sure scholars would argue (probably accurately) that I’m using the word “prophet” too loosely. And maybe I’m not even using it correctly at all. Though a quick Google search educates me:

Maybe I’m not so far off, or maybe the more proper word is “evangelist” or who knows. Mea culpa. If my words fail it’s because they’re human words. If my meaning sticks, it’s because it’s God’s message. 

I guess in summary, being a prophet doesn't necessarily mean a life lived on the corner of main streets with a cardboard sign. It may not mean leaving your career and family behind. Being a prophet means following the call God sets out uniquely for you. For me, it was publishing this post. For another prophet, it might mean sharing a smile with somebody discouraged or taking an extra moment to show kindness to a stranger. 

If you are inspired to proclaim God's will in any shape or form, then according to Google and my rationale, YOU are a prophet. May the Lord help each of us to earn that title daily.