I listened to this early this morning, before coffee (and please keep doing these audios if it's not too much trouble, they're so lovely) and felt so much like you were talking directly to me that after you said, "but I cannot. And I ought not," I said, "But why not??!" out loud. Also, "the cure for the pain is in the pain," says Rumi. He's probably right.
Thank you, friend. I appreciate your feedback, and happy to do the recordings.
As for your question, I love it, and it tears me apart. In the original poem/essay, Henderson implies our successful direct intervention might deny the world some precious gift God is offering to the world, a gift that is hidden from us right now, but may be revealed in Deep Time. A sort of "Everything happens for a reason...even pain" perspective, and to do more than walk lovingly beside someone in their hurt might not be so selfless as we convince ourselves it is. That it might be about coming at pain from our own fear and white knuckling control that was never ours in the first place - and in so doing, we might actually mock our beloved who suffers by stealing his/her hope that this day of suffering might have purpose and might someday be made beautiful and replacing it with wishful thinking that we might, through our own ability and strength, avoid or eliminate pain. That is simply not my experience.
I think this is the very thing Rilke was suggesting..."Let everything happen to you," which is exactly not, "Make everything happen to you." I wonder if this is what Rumi was suggesting.
Nouwen said it this way: "Still, when we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is the friend who cares."
(I feel like I'm already doing the next post.) Thank you for the thoughts.
I listened to this early this morning, before coffee (and please keep doing these audios if it's not too much trouble, they're so lovely) and felt so much like you were talking directly to me that after you said, "but I cannot. And I ought not," I said, "But why not??!" out loud. Also, "the cure for the pain is in the pain," says Rumi. He's probably right.
Thank you, friend. I appreciate your feedback, and happy to do the recordings.
As for your question, I love it, and it tears me apart. In the original poem/essay, Henderson implies our successful direct intervention might deny the world some precious gift God is offering to the world, a gift that is hidden from us right now, but may be revealed in Deep Time. A sort of "Everything happens for a reason...even pain" perspective, and to do more than walk lovingly beside someone in their hurt might not be so selfless as we convince ourselves it is. That it might be about coming at pain from our own fear and white knuckling control that was never ours in the first place - and in so doing, we might actually mock our beloved who suffers by stealing his/her hope that this day of suffering might have purpose and might someday be made beautiful and replacing it with wishful thinking that we might, through our own ability and strength, avoid or eliminate pain. That is simply not my experience.
I think this is the very thing Rilke was suggesting..."Let everything happen to you," which is exactly not, "Make everything happen to you." I wonder if this is what Rumi was suggesting.
Nouwen said it this way: "Still, when we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is the friend who cares."
(I feel like I'm already doing the next post.) Thank you for the thoughts.
In love,
C
And what a pleasure and honor it is to walk with you, Chris!
How powerful, I will just sit in this and let it marinate. How He catches our hearts.
Thank you, Chris. So deeply appreciate your taking the time to respond, and the invitation to let things marinate.
In love,
C