Yalim's Questions

I wrote this little retelling of the story of the Last Supper for a recent church service. I hope you enjoy it.

Yalim loved the celebration of Passover. Family and friends gathered together around the table, there was lots of good food, and her papa always led them in speaking lots of sacred words, although she didn’t understand all of that.

“What do they all mean, Papa?” Yalim asked the morning before the Passover celebration.

“They remind us that God brought our ancestors out of slavery,” said her Papa, checking the joint on a table he was repairing.

“But why were they slaves?” Yalim wanted to know. 

“So many questions, Yalim! We’ll talk about it later,” said Papa, turning to get more nails. “Now you must go and help your mother prepare.”

Yalim wandered into the house, where her Mama was stirring a pot of the apple mixture called haroseth. “Ah, Yalim,” said Mama, “go into the pantry, get a bowl of dates, and take them to the upstairs room.”

“But why upstairs, Mama? Aren’t we eating down here?”

“Some men are coming to the house to celebrate Passover,” Mama replied.

“Why aren’t they eating with us?” asked Yalim.

“Hush, child, you ask so many questions – go!” said her Mama, shaking her head and Yalim went, wondering all the while

Just as the family was about to sit down to the feast, the men showed up. They looked tired and dusty from the road, and the one who seemed to be their leader, the one they called Rabbi Jesus, had sad eyes. Her mama showed them upstairs, and then came back down to the Passover feast. A little while later, she leaned over and whispered to Yalim to take another pitcher of wine upstairs in case the men had run out.

Yalim crept in quietly, not wanting to disturb them, and began refilling the empty cups on the table. The sad-eyed Rabbi was speaking. He held up a piece of the matzoh bread and said, “This is my body.”

“That’s not right,” thought Yalim. She had just hear her Papa saying the ritual words at their own feast, so she knew this wasn’t the right thing to say.

A few moments later the sad-eyed man picked the cup she had just filled for him and said, “This is my blood.”

“That’s not right, why do you say that?” asked Yalim. And then her hand flew to her mouth in horror – a little girl like her wasn’t supposed to be talking to these men, and she was never supposed to interrupt the ritual. Oh, her papa would be so angry! And some of the men did look angry.

But the sad-eyed Rabbi merely said,  “I am teaching something new,” and looked kindly at her, waiting to see how she would respond.

Hesitantly, Yalim said, “But the Passover isn’t new – it’s an old story.”

“Yes,” said the Rabbi, “the Passover and the Exodus tell the story of how God loved his people so much that he brought them out of slavery. But now God is using me to teach people how to love each other enough to be transformed for them, to sacrifice for them.”

“Oh,” said Yalim, “but that sounds very hard to do.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” the Rabbi said, his eyes growing gentle, “It’s not really a sacrifice if you love people so much that you want to do it.”

The men all around Rabbi Jesus looked confused, like they weren’t sure about what he was saying. But Yalim just smiled. Her questions had been answered. She understood.

Freedom in a Pretzel Pose

I went to yoga class today for the first time in 5 or 6 weeks. Vertigo has been a near-constant companion of late, and my last attempt at a class full of bending and twisting left me ducking out early while trying not to pass out. I’ve felt better the last few days, though, so on goes the spandex: downward dog, here I come. But 5 or 6 weeks of a more-or-less yoga-free existence, you might be surprised to learn, do not do wonders for balance or flexibility. “Graceful” and “fluid” really don’t capture my practice today; “awkward” and “straining” might be more apt. But no matter: the important thing was simply being there. It’s a little lesson I learned from the Bhagavad Gita.

Gotta love Hindu sacred texts like the Gita. They often have this epic, sometimes cosmic, scale and yet somehow manage to boil down serious spiritual truths into the tiniest possible package, like this:

Strive constantly to serve the welfare of the world; by devotion to selfless work one attains the supreme goal of life.

                                                Bhagavad Gita 3.20

(Easwaran translation)

If you like your spiritual instruction just a little less pithy, then we have the slightly fuller descriptions:

They live in freedom who have gone beyond the dualities of life. Competing with no one, they are alike in success and failure and content with whatever comes to them. They are free, without selfish attachments; theirs minds are fixed in knowledge. They perform all work in the spirit of service…

                                                Bhagavad Gita 4.22-23

                                                (Easwaran translation)

Contentment, freedom, service – okay, maybe these are not the first thoughts that come to your mind when you hear the term “yoga”. Maybe you think more of twisting up like a pipe cleaner than of service, but the truth is that they go together surprisingly well. After all, the physical side of what we Westerners call yoga is actually supposed to be a moving meditation and a pathway to stillness of body and mind so that the spirit within can be perceived. That may not be what you hear when you head to that power class at the gym that leaves you sweaty and breathless, but remember that “yoga” actually means “yoke” – as in joining together in union – and you start getting the picture.

When you are bending and twisting in yoga postures, the goal isn’t to do the pose perfectly, but rather to still the mind. If you can put your hands on the floor in uttanasana (standing forward fold) that’s great, but no better than if your hands only reach your knees; if moving into the pose helps you develop clarity of thinking, then it matters little where your hands and feet are. Oddest of all, while it is so easy to spend your time in a yoga class comparing yourself to others (“she can do tree pose while standing on tiptoe and doing a backbend, while I can barely stay steady if I lift one foot an inch off the floor”), really it’s about letting go of expectations, accepting where you are and working to your fullest within this moment.

So we’ve got contentment and freedom taken care of; what about service? Yeah, that’s there, too. The Bhagavad Gita takes a microscope to the idea of karma yoga, the path of selfless service, where everything we do is done in service to God and to others. Even more, it teaches us that it is God performing the service through us: Brahman, the eternal Reality, “is present in every act of service” (3.16). When we step out of that intense focus on our own wants and likes, we begin to act in the service of others.  When I let go of my own wants and needs and failures, I make room for others in my life and open myself to giving; I recognize that God is working through me. If I find a deeper stillness and greater peace in my yoga class, then I step out into the world with more love to give it.

Contentment, freedom, service - these come from focusing on the process, not the end result. If we spend our time doing the next right thing, then we don’t have to worry about whether it’s all going to come out like we want. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but either way either way we have acted from love and compassion, just as we will act from love and compassion in dealing with those unknown results. I think T.S. Eliot says it beautifully:

All men are ready to invest their money
But most expect dividends.
I say to you: Make perfect your will.
I say: take no thought of the harvest,
But only of proper sowing.

                                    Choruses from “The Rock”

Focus on sowing properly rather than on reaping what you want, and you will find contentment, freedom and service. And who knows – maybe it will lead you to a yoga class.

Blessets

So I’m at a doctor’s office getting a round of tests. Feeling pretty awful and the tests are generally making things worse – lovely. This is definitely a “grit your teeth and bear it” kind of moment, which I do with a few deep breaths and as much patience as I can muster. Then the technician monitoring the test is called away for a few minutes, and I am left alone in a quiet, cool, dim room. I feel the tension in my body begin to flow out and a recognition of the grace of this small moment begin to flow in. A blesset.

This word “blesset” came to me as a way to describe those tiny moments of grace that fill our days. “Blessing” seems too big and proud a word for what I’m talking about. My son is a blessing (although there are times when I need to be reminded of that), my family and friends are blessings, my work is a blessing. These elements of my life call and transform me; they give me a chance to overcome pride and selfishness and the 101 other failures of compassion to which I am prone. But a blesset is a small thing, just a droplet of grace, a simple recognition of where I find myself in a given moment.

I’ve been feeling unwell more often than not of late, and it’s easy to get caught up in that, to focus on the pain or dizziness or nausea or whatever less-than-pleasant reminder of my physicality is invading my mental space. But every time this word crosses my mind – and it crosses my mind more and more – I stop and ask myself, “What is the blesset of this moment?” and invariably there is an answer: quiet, a chance to close my eyes when I don’t feel well, the beauty of a sunset, the sound of music playing in a another room, a cool breeze, the sun’s warmth, the sweetness of an orange…I don’t think it matters what blesset I find, just that I find one, that I open myself to the moment enough to recognize the grace that it holds, and to be grateful for it. And I hope that you see the blessets in your life, too.