Compost as Freedom

[Soil & Land - XI]

Freedom is not merely a lack of captivity. That’s emancipation. Maybe liberty.

Freedom is not only volition, the ability to make your own decisions and assert your will. That’s part of what it means to have power. Perhaps prestige. 

Freedom is not just having many options and access to resources. That’s privilege, which is part of freedom. 

Freedom is also not just an optimistic state of mind, though that has become popular. That can be delusion, or a type of happiness addiction. 

I'm learning that a big part of what it means to experience freedom is willingly accepting limitations. True freedom is participating in the way creation works. Here’s an example of the difference: Freedom is not necessarily having the wealth to deny gravity and shoot yourself into space in a rocket; rather, freedom is embracing gravity, and learning to walk, step by step, with gratitude.

Freedom is most poignant for me in the spring.
Freedom is building compost, creating my own germination mix, and propagating seeds. 
Freedom is working within the limitations of nature as a productive participant. 
Freedom is buying less and creating more. 
True Freedom is staying put, growing, and sharing. 

Rebellion is the Best Option

[Soil & Land - X]

Did you hear about the deforestation rates in the Amazon? The erosion of global topsoil? The extinction rates? The melting permafrost? Our relationship with the planet—nah, that’s too generic and big—our relationship with the natural resources in our vicinity, is absurd. We ignore it, expect it to serve us, and assume it will always be there as it always has been. It’s absurd. 

Albert Camus came to mind as I was reading another article about another ecological disaster. He gives helpful categories, I think, in moving forward. 

The conservative, according to Camus, goes to great lengths to keep things the way they are, to deny information that may challenge current paradigms and put pressure on the status quo. 

The revolutionary, who is the ultimate progressive, I guess, wants to blow the whole thing up Information that undermines the current mode of operation can’t come fast enough. Angst is fuel and destruction is better than no action. 

But the rebel finds measurable and constructive action right where they are. The conservative and revolutionary, in a way, are committed to the same thing: destruction at all costs. The rebel is committed to what lasts, to preserving life, and not giving the rights of making meaning and framing the problems away to those hellbent on destruction. 

Every time we make decisions to contribute (not extract), compliment (not contest), and care for (not destroy) the land and resources around us, we are being rebellious! For me, each time I fill another wheelbarrow full of compost, roll it to my garden, and apply it to my beds, my inner-rebel smiles. 

Rotting & New Life

[Soil & Land - IX]

Everything rots. We spend a lot of time, energy, and money keeping this and that thing alive and upright. Organizations rot; leaves in the alley rot; your teeth rot. We can prop some things up for a while; we can even give the perception that other things aren’t rotting by putting a sheen on them. But it’s all slowly but surely breaking down. 

Rot is most obvious in tender organic material. You can almost watch a banana rot if you stare long enough. Most foods rot relatively quickly.  

We run into "rotting problems” when we deny its inevitability, or concentrate the rot and try to ignore it. Unhealthy death—death that stinks the most and needlessly causes other things to rot faster than necessary—is not in the embracing of the rotting process but in its denial. We could say that sustaining life artificially ultimately serves more death in the end. 

Embracing the rot is not conceding to death, per se, but embracing the upshot of the rotting process: new life. The theological word for this embracing is redemption. Redemption is not the denial of death and rot, but the embracing and honoring of it. 

I learned this from my compost heap.  

Land Rubric

[Soil & Land - VIII]

The Hebrew people, despite generations of oppression, were promised land flowing with milk and honey. Milk, the liquid symbol of successful livestock husbandry, and honey, the sweet gold of abundant agriculture, are ecological shorthand for access to fertile soil, clean waterways, manageable topography, ample sun, sufficient precipitation, and clean air. 

For a technological society like ours, access to land flowing with milk and honey is mere symbol; it’s just an idea with metaphoric meaning. For an agrarian society, access to abundant land means the possibility of flourishing into the future. It is literally the gift of posterity. 

There is one thing about the promise, I think, that speaks directly (and maybe literally) to ancient agrarians and contemporary technologists: milk and honey, livestock and pollination, fertile soil and floral nectar all connote an ecological system that works. In other words, the promise of good land is a radical idea: either a system works and serves life or is doesn’t work and depletes life. 

I think that’s a good rubric for advancement in any field, in any era: Does it serve life?

Down to Earth

[Announcement at the end…]

On this Easter weekend, as I contemplate the resurrection of Jesus, I’m reminded of just how earthly the whole story is. There’s no hiding Jesus’ down-to-earth-ness: beginning in a barn and ending in a dusty tomb. And all along the way he travels with dirty feet, embraces filthy neighbors, mixes healing ointments of soil and saliva, draws in the sand, teaches about rocks and trees and animals and agriculture… the whole thing is so bodily, concrete, human, real. 

I’ve always resonated with the earthliness of Jesus. For me, if there’s not an upfront admission about bad breath and bodily functions, I sense someone is trying to sell me something. 

I suppose that’s why I’m drawn to the biblical stories that go extra far to reveal just how thoroughly human the characters are. Remember that scene where a boat of naked dudes (look it up!) are fishing and Jesus says, “Yo, the fish are on the other side of the boat; try throwing the net there and then come have breakfast on the beach.” And after eating some fresh tilapia with a side order of humiliation, the scene turns into a life-altering conversation about tenderness and caring for others. 

I’m just not that interested in a Jesus that’s not human. Like fully human in all the ways that it’s so dang hard to be human. About a year ago I thought: I should write a book about this. So, I did! It’s titled:

Curated Coals: And Other Resurrection Stories that Change Everything I Believe about Christianity. 

And it launches Easter weekend. Go get a copy on Amazon (and a lot of other places). Also, all my other books are 50% for the month of April. 

“Owning” Land

[Soil & Land - VII]

Ownership of land is a curious notion. Ownership is permanent, meaning I legally possess it as far into the future as my life continues. And then, in a way, it remains “mine" insofar as my kin maintain possession. 

But if I look backward, into the past, say 75 years, I find a few other owners that are unrelated to me. Far enough back and it stops being owned at all. It was merely accessed. Used. Traversed. Gleaned from.  

Something changed with the land I own the moment someone decided it would be parceled out and legally possessed. 

The minerals, moister levels, and organic matter of the soil didn’t change. Sure, trees were harvested, but others grew back. And the topography remained the same. So, what changed? 

As soon as something is considered “own-able” it is also considered “take-able.” In other words, ownership and stealing necessarily emerge at the same time. They conceptually require each other. Something we consider to be good—the legal buying and selling of land—comes with a dark side: what can be owned can also be taken. 

Not all virtue is free of vice. 

Garden of Eden 5

[Soil & Land - VI]

This will be my last reflection on the Garden of Eden (until I write a book about it, of course). 

The Garden of Eden is not the name of a place, per se, but it is still the name of a literal reality. I’m not intending to reduce the importance of it as the epicenter of the creation story for several religious traditions. But when it firmly holds a place in our understanding of history it's reduced to geography, as opposed to what it was intended for: meaning making and a deep understanding of the human condition. I’m not suggesting that the Garden of Eden is untrue; I’m saying that it’s more than true—it’s *universally true* and always becoming *more true* the further we find ourselves within it. 

Here’s an example of what I mean. 

If we look at the story of the Garden of Eden, we find a piece of land that is crafted for human flourishing. A special mandate is given to humanity to care for the land and animals, a mandate that stretches their sense of individuation (you must care for others!) and broadens their imagination of health (community wellbeing is as important as your hunger!). Eventually they're faced with a moral dilemma, make choices that have unavoidable consequences, and enter into new levels of responsibility and challenge.  

Did this all factually occur? Honestly, that’s not even an interesting question. *More true* than whether it happened to Adam and Eve is that it happens to all of us! It’s the process of moral maturing we must all go through. 

The problem is that many of us will debate the facts of our religious heritage and never enter the more difficult journey of learning to grow up and leave “home,” give of ourselves to others, tend to the “gardens” around us, make hard decision, willfully nurture creation, own the consequences of our actions, prioritize our communities, and avoid blaming everyone else for our immaturity. 

I told you the Garden of Eden is more than true!

Garden of Eden 4

[Soil & Land - V]

In a way, the Garden of Eden fits the archetype of Heaven. No needs; no violence; thriving relationships; and mangoes, of course. As such, outside of the Garden, which is known as East of Eden, is Hell. The Garden of Eden and Hell are opposites, right? 

Heaven and Hell. 
Garden of Eden and East of Eden.
Plenty and scarcity.
Peaceableness and violence. 
Wholeness and brokenness. 

What if this list is not a list of opposites but of partnerships? What if they are couples in tension? What if the second list of “hellish” realities are necessary seasons for us to fully experience and embrace before we can commit to the first list of “heavenly” realities?

In this way brokenness is the path by which we arrive at a deep sense of (and longing for) wholeness. 

Hell is quite literally the name we have for a difficult season whereby we crave the inbreaking of Heaven. 

Do we need both? 

Garden of Eden 3

[Soil & Land - IV]

We all leave a Garden of Eden. Think about it.

The epitome of health, security, and love is the floating oasis that is a mother’s womb. Even under the most extreme challenges, a mother’s body compensates and gives to the health of the little one growing inside her. And then birth, a traumatic exit from the womb and into the dry, aggressive realities of the world.

In a way Adam and Eve were traumatically birthed out of Eden—into the harsh realities of an imperfect world. Like a newborn, they began dying the moment they left.

But my tradition says the story continues. God promises another womb to the descendants of Adam and Eve. God promises a new land that flows with milk and honey. In other words, God promises a new womb-like garden reality.

Eden and its aftermath is not so much a story inviting historical analysis. What’s important is that it is universally true: new life always requires death, struggle, and hardship. Everything begins in a Garden of Eden, a womb of sorts, goes through death and hardship, and experiences new life.

Death is never the end. Gardens teach us this. Soil teaches us this. Life teaches us this.

Garden of Eden 2

[Soil & Land - III]

The fertile land of the Garden of Eden tells us a lot about healthy spirituality—sin not included. 

Eden is a place of harmony and flourishing. Many of us may have never experienced anything that resembles such an existence, but within us is the capacity to imagine such a thing. Imagination is not evidence of fantasy; quite the opposite. Imagination is the water table beneath the well of possibility. Most of us simply never attempt to dig down far enough to tap into it. Eden, then, is not so much a place but a symbol that captures the possibility of our hopes. 

Eden is also from where humans were exiled. “You must leave,” Adam and Eve were told by God after their transgression. So, while it was a place of harmony at first, it was a place of deep hurt in the end. Life at first; death in the end. Peace at first; conflict in the end. And the shift was marked by a severance, a break-up, a broken relationship—from the land, from God, from harmony. Eden, then, is not so much a place but a pattern of human existence. What begins in the harmony of the womb, the ecstasy of love and belonging, eventually breaks. 

Life always includes, if we’re honest, failure, trauma, pain, and grief. But under it all is a current of hope. 

Garden of Eden 1

[Soil & Land - II]

There are several *dangers* with wanting to go back to a time that was supposedly simpler, more secure, and safe. The 50’s and 60’s; the 19th century; first century Palestine; the Garden of Eden. Take your pick.

Nostalgia clouds the truth. The warmth of familiarity and the sentiment of former norms have a way of covering over or diluting the severity of the bad. 

Memory highlights the good. With enough time, most memories become positive because we all have an inclination to bring the positive to the foreground. In perspective, the good takes up vastly more of the frame in our mind.

Desire fabricates the ideal. Wanting something to be true has a strong influence on our belief that thing is in fact true. We will work overtime, it seems, to make it true just to satisfy our desire for it to be so. 

I wonder if “back then,” as we imagine it, even existed. I’m not sure it matters. 

The epitome of “back then” is the Garden of Eden. I’ll spend the next four or five reflections thinking through the original “back then.” Why it matters. And how we can think of it in healthy terms. 

(BTW, it won’t be a Bible study.)

Return to the Soil

[Soil & Land - I]

“Soiled” means to be dirty or stained. In a metaphorical sense it means to be stigmatized or disgraced. It’s a term with only negative meaning. 

But soil is not bad! To live on a farm is fundamentally to interact with soil. Soil is quite literally the beating heart of every agricultural endeavor. I’ve grown to cherish soil, especially when it is fertile, balanced, and has good tilth. 

And yet it carries such negative meaning in our overly sanitized culture. 

Cleanliness is a virtue, is it not? Cleanliness is next to godliness, as the saying goes. So, to wrestle with the concept of soil is not just semantics. How we understand and interact with soil/soiled and dirt/dirty matter to how we perceive others, how we understand and practice “godliness,” and how we interact with our physical surroundings.. 

Soil is good. Yet we understand it as contaminated and bad. 

For the next few weeks I’d like to return to the soil (and land), dig around a bit, and see what meaning we can learn from it.

Bodycare

[Tension & Renewal - XXXV]

I have come to believe there are three areas of *revival* that we don’t see because we don’t have the eyes to see them.

The first area is related to emotions and the second area is related to nature. (See previous reflections.)

The third area is caring for our bodies. The smallest act of self-care and healing of our physical bodies is also an act of spiritual renewal.   

If you sit at your computer for a few hours, your neck tenses and your eyes lose focus. We all innately know that sitting and staring at a screen is not a recipe for longterm health. 

If you eat three donuts and two cups of acidic coffee, despite the caffeine, you will feel sluggish in one hour. We all know that refined sugar is toxic despite it tasting good every time. 

We all inherently know how to care for our bodies: movement, water, roughage. Often we forget, though, that caring for our body awakens the spirit. 

Closer to Eden

[Tension & Renewal - XXXIV]

I have come to believe there are three areas of *revival* that we don’t see because we don’t have the eyes to see them.

The first area is related to emotions. (See previous reflection.)

The second area is nature. What do you feel when you are in nature? Is it enchanting? Are you part of it or distinct from it? Does it open you up or close you off? Do you reach for your phone or leave it in you pocket? Does it compel you to play? 

A clear sign of renewal is a spirit of participation, acceptance, and wonder per the natural world. Renewal can look like a growing comfort in our encounters with the natural elements or a renewed childlike enchantment with a forest or scenic trail or mountain view. 

You might say the further we get from Eden, the further we move away from the divine; the closer we get to Eden, the more immanent the divine. Nature is not God, but nature is infused with divine DNA. It’s impossible to ignore without complete detachment. So, renewal often comes by way of “re-attaching” to creation. 

Emotional Connection

[Tension & Renewal - XXXIII]

I have come to believe there are three areas of *revival* that we don’t see because we don’t have the eyes to see them.

The first area is a thorough experience of and ability to express our emotions. Our emotional landscape is our prelinguistic means of communication and consequently more deeply embedded in our experience of both our own bodies and the world within our immediate experience. There is no encounter with the world without an emotional encounter with the world. It is part of what makes us human. It is also essential to our encounter with the divine. 

A clear sign of renewal is when we begin to cultivate the ability to fully feel our emotions (without numbing or denying them) and begin to develop skills to communicate our experience (in a way that is illuminating to us and nurturing to others). 

For the masculine this often looks like softening, slowing down, and connecting words to sensations. For the feminine this often looks like a patient untangling of feelings.

Soul Grounding

[Tension & Renewal - XXXII]

True revival is not about “spiritual experiences” per se. A spiritual ecstasy can just as easily be associated with unhealth, degradation, and trauma as it can healing, renewal, and rebirth. Actually, some of the most toxic and confining religious groups attest to having regular mountain top experiences and direct encounters with the Divine. 

That means very little.

True revival, on the other hand, is a slow journey of grounding our identity in the soul rather than some construction of who we think we ought to be. 

Here’s a tell-tale sign of the difference: constructed identity is fueled by security, fame, power, status, and accomplishments—all things that ask what the world can offer us; soul identity is always focused on what gift I can uniquely give the world. (The answer is always in union with the Divine.)

[h/t Plotkin]

Paradox of Renewal

[Tension & Renewal - XXXI] 

I was always taught that regeneration or revival was like following a friend on a trip to a coveted vacation destination. The only cost was the ticket price to travel. 

I’m beginning to think it’s more like following a stranger at the front door who promises something better at the expense of everything. 

The stranger tells us there’s no need to lock the doors. Actually, we can leave the keys. We won’t be returning at all. As hard as it was to build or acquire that house it suddenly and strangely feels empty. But the way forward, which has danger written all over it, is surprisingly imbued with the Divine. Each of us have a call toward a bone-rattling adventure with a spine-building purpose. It's both oddly terrifying and comforting, empty of any sense but deeply holy and right. 

The way forward, out the door, toward the wilderness where beasts and darkness and likely hell await, there is Divine closeness. It’s the paradox of true renewal, true calling. 

The paradox is a sign of true renewal. 

Advent or Venture

[Tension & Renewal - XXX] 

The adventure to our calling is the *advent* of your True Self. But how do we know it’s not just another *venture* toward a trend or away from responsibility?

One of the main differences between an “advent" and a “venture” is that the former is facing something difficult. Avoidance tends to be an easier path. Trends are popular partly because they require little work. 

A true calling is a call beyond the comfort of the “home” you’ve constructed and toward the “homeless” landscape of the wilderness. 

It can’t be tweeted. It doesn’t make for a sharable meme. You’re compelled to pack lightly (you’d have to discard everything you thought was important anyways) and leave your expectations behind. 

A true call is an adventure through your fears, further uncovering your deeper longings; there’s a lot of death; but you have a deep sense that somewhere beyond the death is regeneration.

New life awaits. And it’s the life you didn’t know you were preparing for. 

What Am I Here For?

[Tension & Renewal - XXIX]

We all have a call. That’s not a religious claim as much as it is simply putting a word to what I’ve observed in everyone’s life with whom I’ve ever worked. 

Sometime after our teenage years, which are preoccupied with differentiating ourselves from our parents and coping with inordinate amounts of hormones, we settle into a "personality.” It’s often a hybrid of the person we think we should become (out of duty, obedience, or conviction from childhood) and the person we discover in our short life (through youthful exploration and ego building). There’s nothing wrong about this “personality.” 

Everyone with their “personality,” which is to say *everyone everywhere*, eventually is confronted by a terrifying question. We haven’t outright avoided it, but we know subconsciously that all the work that has gone into building our “personality” is not sufficient in helping us answer it. 

We know deep down that more work needs to be done. 
New resource will need discovering. 
A new depth of our own self-knowing is our only chance. 

The question: What am I really here for? 

The adventure to answer this question is the beginning of true renewal!

Do You Follow?

[Tension & Renewal - XXVIII]

Between puberty and midlife, we build our house of identity. Building the house takes years—no building project is easy—but some have it easier than others. 

Some of us are given all the material, delivered on a flatbed truck of religion; we merely unload and follow the instructions. Others of us walk into the wilderness with an ax and have to toil for every resource. Nothing comes easily; nothing is free. 

Whether we fought every step of the way or followed someone else’s blueprint, we all eventually arrive at our adult house. We’ve furnished it with values, decorated it with our worldview, and put all the finishing touches on it with our personality. In general, we’ve arrived at the “way we’re suppose to be” and can identify exactly what “the good life” looks like. 

As soon as we’re about to get comfortable in our adult house, someone knocks on the door. His name is often something like Doubt, Loneliness, Trauma, Grief, Depression, or Addiction. We can’t ignore him.

And he comes with only one message: Time to leave! 

Do you follow?