REVOLUTIONS OF THE HEART

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A record is a good symbol for how hard it is to hold on to something that the world decides is no longer relevant. At this point, record stores, especially good ones are hard to come by. It's no longer main stream to listen to music using this technology and part of the reason is - a record cannot be forced to be at our disposal. Unless you have an awesome portable one (did you see Moonrise Kingdom?), a record is not an on-demand, in the car, on a plane, instant gratification kind of thing.

As technology has allowed us to experience media right when we want it and just the way we want it, listening to music whenever and wherever we choose, the record stands out as a dinosaur. Unlike purchasing a song on iTunes where it feels like an invisible exchange involving magic, acquiring a record is so much more. Most of ours come from a treasure hunt in a thrift or record store and some have been given as gifts. My grandfather made sure I knew which songs he loved when he handed me a stack of records on one of my last visits to him before he died.

He was sharing them because he knew that I would listen to them and there was something about that, like he could know that some of his favorite songs would light up the world when he no longer could.

Since Eliza has now joined us in our love of records, in our cleaning them before each spin as we reorganize them, as we dance to them, I have found myself pondering what I want her to know. Records have reminded us to ask what is worth holding onto even when it feels hard. How do we live how we intend to and hold on to the things we care about when most of the people around us are doing something else? How do we decide what threads we keep on weaving into the present and future and which ones we let go of?

What are the values we will cling to when there are fewer and people living them? Who are the people we will remain connected to when the wilderness time comes in our lives and it is clear where the unconditional love is and isn't found? Which are the beliefs we will wrap our arms around even when they are seen as irrelevant?

The other part of holding on is letting go. We can't hold onto everything, something gets dropped either on purpose or by accident. So how do we decide when to let go? How do we know when to move forward even when it means leaving something behind?

I look at a record and I am reminded how quickly our world is moving. The pace of technology is mind-boggling and the amount of information our brains are asked to process is unlike anything ever before seen in human history. We are pulled by information, by relationships, by vocations, by stuff that just happens, so how do we decide what is worth preserving and when to let go?

Most of us, even with our best intentions intact, repeat the patterns of our formative time in our family of origin; we operate with beliefs that no longer serve us just because we always have. We keep people around us who suck our energy or drain our joy, simply because they have always been there.

For those of us who travel the Christian liturgical seasons, we are currently walking through Lent. It is a wilderness journey leading up to the death of Jesus of Nazareth and it ends with a joyous message that love wins in the end, in spite of the Empire. It seems to me that in life, often the only way to get to the good stuff, to make room for who we really want to be, is letting go.

I grew up with the message that "everything is fine", no matter what emotions, bubble up or what passive aggressive behavior manifests. Honest questing and inner exploration were not encouraged. Especially when ideas conflicted, "everything is fine, everything is fine." It was grounded in a longing for a healthy happy family, but just saying something is so doesn't make it so. Because we know that life is not always fine and sometimes things are just a mess, I believe it does damage to the inner light when it cannot shine in the way it was designed to. It took years before I realized that I could choose to live differently and leave that way of being behind. It took church and therapy and lots of love for me to see that I could build a new way of being in the world. It is a project that I know will never be done. My default is still to say that everything is fine, to avoid bringing up the dissonance, to flee from the discomfort because I want so badly to be able to say, "everything is fine."

When I shared with my family and friends that I felt called to start a progressive faith community rooted in radical inclusivity, deep spirituality and the aim to be purposefully evolving, it quickly became clear that proclaiming my values would strain some of my cherished relationships. A few of my evangelical friends felt that the space between us had grown and it became difficult to talk about much. The most painful letting go came out of a letter from my dad.

The dissonance arose, the conflicting ideas apparent. My amygdala screamed, "everything is fine, " but my tiny light, fighting to glow, burned bright enough for me to take another step. I want to be real. I want to feel. I want to feel alive. I have to leave this behind, at least for now.

After letters, tears and tons of prayer, I decided to let go of what was, which for this time, means that my dad has yet to meet his granddaughter. There is of course a deep sadness in this letting go, a loss that has demanded time for grief. But it is also been a time of great opening, an invitation to continue to be honest about who I really I am.

I don't have to do what I have always done, because it seems to me that letting go is really about what is worth holding on to, about where I stand, even when it feels like I am standing alone. In the words of the Grateful Dead,

"There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone."

I hold out hope that things with my dad can change, that leaving behind a fake relationship creates space for an imperfect yet authentic one. But in the meantime, I live in the sometimes-dark place between accepting what is and being open to what is not yet.

I don't know many of you deeply, but I know you as people who want to live on purpose, which means living deeply, fully, authentically and faithfully to what we say we believe.

So where are the spaces where you should hold on tighter and when should you let go? Where are we turning and turning because we are stuck on a scratch or a wound or a mistake, repeating the same thing because that is what we know? Maybe a better question is: where has the music stopped?

In this moment, in this time, in this space, whatever it is that you are carrying that needs to be released, may the Spirit dance into the openings within you and join your letting go.

May it be so. Ashe.