Christmas and New Year’s: Wishing and Waiting

This is a challenging and confusing time of year. In fact, it is so demanding and chaotic that the deeper and more subtle currents of vulnerable humanity are often obscured by the overall busyness and the complexity of family entanglements.  The two currents I want to highlight here are “wishing and waiting.”  Advent, in the Christian tradition, points to these two realities, but they are most often expressed through ritual and ceremony only.  What does waiting and forbearance reveal to us if we pay close attention?  Rarely do people stop and ask, “What am I really longing for and what kind of waiting is required to understand my longing?”  All of this generally moves outside of our awareness, but as we so frequently and painfully reminded, just because something is outside of our awareness does not mean that it is not running the show.

This very human tendency to wish and to wait for a “savior” is triggered by the Christmas story.  We all carry the universal desire to be “saved.” Most of us secretly hope to be spared having to stand up on our own two feet and take full responsibility for our lives. We long for an ultimate savior who will support us, care for us, protect us, and promise us that everything will be OK.  We hope that if such a savior should appear and minister to us personally, then everything would change for the better and we could finally relax in the face of the ever-changing and unpredictable world.

Not only does the current of “wanting to be saved” begin to flow, but the impending New Year brings forth the desire for a fresh start. “Maybe I will get another chance.”  The new year is a virtual marker that can be used to delude ourselves. “Maybe I can put the past behind me and begin anew.” This yearning for a fresh start is so powerful and the wish to begin anew is so strong that it feeds the stories we tell about ourselves and our lives.  These stories are often constructed and maintained around all of this waiting and wishing.    

There is a waiting that is passive and unproductive; an unwillingness to engage and take responsibility.  But, there is also a waiting that is necessary for things to take shape and emerge when they are ready.  Some things take time and the only thing to do is to wait with as much grace and forbearance as we can muster.  Other things require not only waiting, but a kind of containment for the thing to ripen properly. We have to hold these things gently and fully for them to form into what is needed.  At other times, a keen witnessing is needed during the waiting period.  Some things need to be deeply seen and acknowledged without any requirement that they be fixed or changed in any way.  Spacious witnessing and warm containment are qualities that render “waiting” into a spiritual practice rather than vacant space or a waste of time. Without these two qualities, things can’t always come to their fullness.

As I reflected on wishing and waiting during the Holiday Season, I began to recall the traditional Christian stories told to me as a child.  I honor these stories and they still have a warm resonance in me, but I now get sense of meanings that are larger than the particular content of the stories themselves.  As I think of Mary and Joseph, I am struck by the way we all have had the experience of realizing that something big was about to happen in our lives. Usually something we did not ask for but which we are going to have to meet with everything we’ve got.  This is the realization that something momentous is occurring and we are at the center of it whether we want to be or not, not unlike the awesome responsibility of parenting.  We also know, deep inside, that this is going to have an impact on every part of our lives for a long time and we can’t say “no.”  Vows come to us in this way, and so may tragedy and creativity.

The Wise Men remind me that when large forces are turning around us, it is probably a good idea to make a wholehearted effort to show up. When great gifts are being born in to the world, it is worth offering something in return. This is a wise and compassionate response (hence, their names).

In the classic scene in the manger, the animals are usually seem to be supporting characters only.  The shepherds are watching their flocks, but what about the animals in the barn, right there with the main characters? It seems to me that no matter what is happening, they show us that we are to stay true to the animal nature of our body. The capacity to breath, eat, sleep, pay attention, stay safe, and above all else, remain close to each other, is crucial for all of this to happen fully.  Sitting zazen is a profoundly embodied act.  Following our breath is a foundational practice.  Connecting with others is the life of a buddha.

These old images from the Jesus story are reflected in our lives now.  We see children waiting for Santa Claus. There is the allure of satisfaction. The idea that one can actually be without desire if you were just given the right thing, the right toy.  We can carry this illusion for a lifetime — getting, having, loosing, and wanting; waiting for the total satisfaction that never comes. As with the children wait for Santa, the adults are waiting for New Year’s Eve.  There lies the promise of a better year or a better life. Especially if we kiss just the right person at just the right time, or wish for just the right thing and wear just the right outfit. These are the incantations for adults that are not that different from believing in Santa Claus and the false promise of complete satisfaction. Of course, all of us secretly hope to be finally grown up, less vulnerable — less afflicted by the troubles of our past and more certain about the shifting future.  These are not merely painful or neurotic errors.  These are aspects of being fully human that the celebrations of Christmas and the New Year hopefully illuminate.  It is too bad that our culture often misses this rare and important opportunity to face life without a wish for salvation and with the capacity to wait.  Forbearance is the quality that seems to capture this shared capacity. I have quoted Norman Fischer elsewhere in this regard, but here is another piece from his lovely book, Sailing Home.

“To practice forbearance is to appreciate and celebrate the heart’s vulnerability, and to see that the slicing and piercing of the heart does not require defense; that the heart’s vulnerability is a good thing, because wounds can make us more peaceful and real — if, that is, we are willing to hang on to...our fear,...our grief,... our shame, without running away or being hurled off.  Forbearance is simply holding on steadfastly with whatever it is that unexpectedly arises: not doing anything; not fixing anything (because doing and fixing can be a way to cover up the heart, to leap over the hurt and pain by occupying ourselves with schemes and plans to get rid of it). Just holding on for dear life.  Holding on with what comes is what makes life dear.”

“Holding on with what comes is what makes life dear.”  This is a lesson for a lifetime, if we are willing to wait. Here is a poem by Lynn Ungar that speaks to the challenge of salvation and the relinquishment to “life as it is.”

Salvation

By what are you saved? And how?
Saved like a bit of string,
tucked away in a drawer?
Saved like a child rushed from
a burning building, already
singed and coughing smoke?
Or are you salvaged
like a car part -- the one good door
when the rest is wrecked?

Do you believe me when I say
you are neither salvaged nor saved,
but salved, anointed by gentle hands
where you are most tender?
Haven't you seen
the way snow curls down
like a fresh sheet, how it
covers everything,
makes everything
beautiful, without exception?

The beautiful questions that emerged in Inquiry this Tuesday following these reflections were inspiring.  The inspiration and understanding about salving rather than salvaging or saving came only through our shared waiting.  Allowing each voice in each person to speak.  Listening deeply for the truth of the matter rather than settling for what would seem like a good “answer.”  And finally, allowing everything to settle as it needed in the compassionate heart of the sangha members assembled there — like the blanket of snow — receptive, attentive, full of care, and covering everything without exception.  

What happened in Inquiry was a precise reflection of the scene that night in the manger,  and the gifts that emerged in the meeting in Inquiry were the same as the promise that would come years later from the child born that night.  Waiting, witnessing, and containment were all required. This is borne out in our bodies through the practice of zazen and are lived fully through our relationships with everyone and everything.  This is life as it is, being met with a warm heart and a calm mind.  This is Buddha activity. This is the function of Christ. Just this.