Showing posts with label addictions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label addictions. Show all posts

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Is There Any Hope? -a Sermon for first Advent


Is There Any Hope?
Sermon for the Advent of Hope; 
Rev. Alison Longstaff, Dec 7, 2014
Bath Church of the New Jerusalem
Isaiah 11:1-2, 6-9; Luke 1: 5-14; HS 8165:2

It was deeply profound to be writing this week's sermon about “Hope” as the nation raged and despaired in response to the acquittal of Officer Darren Wilson for the shooting death of Michael Brown. My Facebook feed was alive with outrage on the day the news broke. One cousin posted report after report about the injustices experienced by dark-skinned Americans, and the obscenely high number of unarmed black youth shot dead by police every year without any hope of justice for their families.

The despair among my friends and connections was palpable. Outrage and anguish, futility and frustration—more and more stories in the news telling tales of humankind’s regression from integrity, moral courage, or any sense of interconnectedness and accountability. While there are many voices out there speaking truths that need to be heard about justice and compassion, there seem to be just as many proclaiming a rhetoric that harnesses blame and entitlement to reinforce a fortress mentality, barricading the entitled from any sense of compassion or “there but by the grace of God go I.”

I have had to work hard to maintain a sense of optimism since moving to the United States. While I am sure there are many other factors figuring in, I genuinely believe that it is a harsher psychological climate here than I experienced in Canada. There is more fear and mistrust in the air. The news is darker, the rhetoric more polemic, and “belief perseverance” (which is rigorously sticking to one’s original beliefs despite all evidence to the contrary, and is now a known, named, and studied phenomenon in the world of psychology) is everywhere. The truth simply cannot set us free if we put our fingers in our ears and hum so that we cannot hear.

My Facebook feed shows increasing frustration and despair among my cyber friends. It is as if a great madness has overtaken this country we love, and we do not know how it has happened or how to correct our course. And as the group anxiety ramps up, our intelligence and ability to work together deteriorates. For under distress, humans regress. It is just a fact of life. Is there any hope at all?

The loss of hope is called despair. And the loss of hope is perhaps one of the most terrible losses of all. To quote modern day prophet J. Michael Straczinski:

“There is a darkness greater than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way. The war we fight is not against powers and principalities...it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril, we can never surrender. The future is all around us, waiting in moments of transition to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future, or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain.”

I found this quote peculiarly resonant with today’s words from Swedenborg. But while Straczynski exhorts us never to surrender, Swedenborg says that the very surrender itself is the turning point in a spiritual temptation. The same way any addict must first admit powerlessness over the addictive substance before recovery can happen, God allows a spiritual temptation to progress beyond our ability to fight back, so that we might re-experience that it is God that does the fighting, not us. Because it is the ways that we separate ourselves from God that create hell to begin with, even so it is the “healing crisis” or turning point in a spiritual temptation that reconnects us to God's strength and God’s love. Though painful, this is the only way to birth us back from hell into heaven (connection with God).

Our spiritual existence is a paradox. We live as if we are independent and yet must remember that God does everything. Our sense of independence from God is a vital part of our ability to receive life and experience spiritual freedom. But it can be a curse too, for that independence is made possible by our ego, and our ego pretty much just creates hell. This is because the minute we think it is all up to us (ego), life starts to get hellish. The minute we think we have all the answers and God should just listen to us (ego), we have manufactured misery. We don’t mean to. We can’t help it. It is what the ego does until we learn to master it.

So we both feel like our life is our own and yet we need to remember it is really God’s power and strength that accomplishes everything. God allows us to experience spiritual temptation when we forget that God’s help stands ready at every second. Despair is the extreme suffering that occurs when we feel as though God is nowhere around and not helping at all. (Jesus Himself experienced this in Gethsemane and on the cross, so the next time you go through this, don’t beat yourself up. Even Jesus couldn't escape this illusion.) Despair is inevitable. But staying stuck in it is optional.

And so, on this Sunday of HOPE, let us look for the hand-grips and toe-holds we might want to use when we next find ourselves stuck in the pit of despair. On the same day that I felt bombarded by the depressing news coming out of Ferguson, such that I wanted to renounce membership in the human race, I caught the edge of an MPBN radio show devoted entirely to good news stories. So I turned it up. After less than half an hour, I had tears of joy in my eyes. In fact, some of the stories of ingenuity, collaboration, and human kindness were so beautiful they would have made Scrooge himself a bit verklempt even before the three spirits visited. I went from disgust and despair, to hope and joy in half an hour, just by changing my internet feed.

There’s a lesson in that. What we pay attention to affects our state of mind. While my morbid curiosity pulls me towards bad news like a fly to, well, things flies like—I can intentionally steer my mind towards the things that uplift and feed my soul as well. Not only did the MPBN show transform my day, its web-page had a link to the Good News Network.org—a site dedicated completely to good news stories, yes, round the clock, seven days a week. And so now, now, whenever the regular news feels too heavy for me to bear, I tune into the good news and get an instant spiritual boost. There will always be bad news. This good news site focuses on the myriad stories of hope and triumph happening in the midst of the tragedies—which stories the big networks can’t be bothered to share.

There is the story of the over $175,000 that has been donated to the tiny Ferguson Library. That library is creating "healing kits" for kids that include books dealing with trauma, and a stuffed animal that they can keep. And there is the story about Natalie DuBose, a Ferguson baker and mother of two who was left trying to clean up and figure out how to fill her Thanksgiving orders after rioters smashed her bakery windows and damaged her equipment. A friend suggested she set up a fund-raising page so DuBose decided on a goal of raising $20,000 to get back on her feet. Two days later DuBose had received $252,000 from more than 7,000 doners. “I’ve never felt such love,” she said. “The outpouring of support … has been amazing. I was in tears.”

And in these stories we see a mirror of both our scriptures: life side-by-side with death. Long after all hope is lost for Elizabeth and Zacharias, their prayer is answered. Her womb quickens with a healthy, viable baby. Where once was a long-dead dream, a complete resurrection is happening.

We see a “poisonous serpent”—the angry voices of blame, the lies, the cover-ups, and the twisted versions of events—creating confusion, and paralyzing the process of justice in Ferguson, and seeking to kill our innocence; yet somehow the innocent and vulnerable people caught in harm’s way—the “infant”—transcends and survives despite the venom and violence. Here is the lion and the lamb; the wolf and baby goat, side by side. It is telling us that life and hope will always transcend death and despair. For in God’s holy mountain, which is the realm of all that is good and true within the human spirit, nothing can be hurt or destroyed. The part of each one of us that is created by God and lives forever can never be hurt or destroyed no matter what happens to us in this physical world.

Despair, and joy; darkness and light, death and life side-by-side. The one is born in the other, like a new baby born in the midst of pain. They are actually two faces of the same thing. We would not despair so intensely if we did not love so deeply, and the depth of our love is a manifestation of God with us. In fact the comfort and consolation that God delivers after we come through a dark night of the soul will be in direct proportion to the depth of the despair. Beautiful new life after every death.

It is our old ideas and attachments that die at the height of temptation, not anything that is doing us good. This hurts. We may cry out in pain like a woman in labor, but we are undergoing the birth of a new self—a new understanding. The relief and joy and transformed life that rises from this small death will be so rewarding that we won’t even remember the pain. God puts before us death and life and says, “Choose life!”

And so, as we celebrate this advent of Hope, let us always look for the new life amidst the ashes of old dreams. It is always there, waiting to burst into vibrant expression like the sun is behind the storm clouds and the spring flowers from beneath the frozen ground.

In closing I offer you this poem by Joyce Rupp. 

It is called, 


“A Closer Look at Thanksgiving.”
If you look at a sunset, you might see only the disappearance of daylight.
If you look beneath, you may see darkness opening the splendor of stars.

If you look at illness and disease, you might see only physical diminishment.
If you look beneath, you may see it as a teacher bringing you vital wisdom.

If you look at a broken relationship, you might see only a harsh ending.
If you look beneath, you may see the courageous seeds of new growth.

If you look at lost dreams, you might see only disappointment and doubt.
If you look beneath, you may see the stuff that new dreams contain.

If you look at the death of a loved one, you might see only pervasive sorrow.
If you look beneath, you may see that love lives on forever in the heart.

If you look at the planet’s pain and creatures’ woe, you might see only despair.
If you look beneath, you may see hope woven in the compassionate care of many.

If you look at yourself, you might see only tarnished unfinishedness.
If you look beneath, you may see your basic goodness shining there.

If you look for the divine being, you might see mostly unresolved questions.
If you look beneath, you may be astounded at the availability of divine love.

Amen

References:


The Readings
Isaiah 11:1-2, 6-9.  A shoot shall come out from the stock of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the baby goat, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the poisonous snake, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be as full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. 

Luke 1:5-14. There was in the days of Herod, the king of Judea, a certain priest named Zacharias, of the division of Abijah. His wife was of the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. And they were both righteous before God, walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless. But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and they were both well advanced in years.  So it was, that while he was serving as priest before God in the order of his division, according to the custom of the priesthood, his lot fell to burn incense when he went into the temple of the Lord. And the whole multitude of the people was praying outside at the hour of incense. Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing on the right side of the altar of incense. And when Zacharias saw him, he was troubled, and fear fell upon him.  But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zacharias, for your prayer is heard; and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth.

Heavenly Secrets 8165 [2] Paraphrase

The final phase of spiritual temptation is despair. During this phase we feel as if we cannot stop ourselves from sliding into hell. Temptations compel us to experience our powerlessness, for a temptation pushes us beyond our endurance until we cannot hold on any more, at which point we begin to tumble into hell. But the Lord catches us right at that point, stopping our descent. This brings relief and comfort and even joy. The only reason God would allow us to experience such terrible despair is so that our beliefs and our attachments can be reformed, and then by means of new insights and a deeper sense of interconnectedness, we are strengthened, and become even more deeply integrated. 

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Welcoming the Stranger - sermon March 23

This sermon did not come out as polished as I had hoped.  I realized too late that drawing a parallel between the stranger walking in the church door and the shadow self didn't work as well as I had hoped, for the stranger coming in the door is seen as a positive, while the shadow self is usually considered to be negative.  Oh well. I ran out of time.  So take what you like and leave the rest. 

Welcoming the Stranger
Rev Alison Longstaff, March 23, 2014
Bath Church of the New Jerusalem
Exodus 19: 16-19;23: 9;Matt 25: 34-40; HS 4958


Your weirdness will make you stronger. Your dark side will keep you whole. Your vulnerability will connect you to the rest of our suffering world. Your creativity will set you free. There's nothing wrong with you ― Andrea Balt

When was the last time you were at a gathering where you knew almost nobody, and yet it seemed everyone knew everybody else?  How did that feel?  Besides perhaps running away, what did you most want?

When was the last time you felt uncomfortable in your own skin—perhaps afraid that you were too weird to be lovable, or too full of mistakes to ever clean it all up?

 In our readings today we heard that God commands us to welcome the stranger.  God commands us to do this.  So we need to ask, what does it mean to welcome the stranger, not just naturally, but spiritually?

The “stranger” is the unknown one at the edge of our established group, the newcomer, the guest.  But spiritually, it is also the unknown, estranged, or outcast parts inside ourselves.  These are parts of ourselves that we have found unacceptable, frightening, or worrisome.  They are also moments, memories, or words and actions in our past of which we are ashamed or embarrassed, and which we choose to ignore or block out, rather than integrate with compassion and learning.

What does it mean to welcome this stranger—the frightening, or new, or alien one, or dark side of our soul?  Well just remember, something is only dark until the light shines on it.  And understanding something brings us a long way towards no longer fearing it.  Even if we must be watchful around it, like we must be around a bear or a strong undertow or a hornets nest, the better we understand how such things work and behave, the better equipped we are for such encounters, and the more likely we will be to make wise and responsible choices in the face of such encounters.  Ignorance and fear are never the better option.

As for me, I certainly was raised to see my insides as divisible into good and bad parts, white and black parts, the stuff that I wanted to show the world and the stuff that I wanted to “shun” (to use a traditionally Swedenborgian word).  It was all or nothing, good or evil, keep or throw away, be proud of or chop it off.  I don’t remember much conversation about the vast middle ground, which includes all the stuff that needs sifting and sorting, weighing and waiting, as in the parable of the wheat and “tares” (weeds). It includes the world of the mixed things that require time and discernment to sort properly. Which world is vast.

And since my inner world was organized that way (all good or all bad), I tended to sort people that way, and I would shun or avoid and have contempt for the ones I had decided were in the “bad” category.  This made me feel both “good,” and safe from whatever it was I decided was bad about them.  The downside of that way of viewing people was the flip-side of the message—if other people could be thrown away, that meant that I could be thrown away too.  And that notion terrified me.  So I learned a heck of a lot of people-pleasing and go-along-to-get-along behaviors that looked good on the outside, but were not particularly enlightened.  These behaviors were fear-based (so I wouldn't be thrown away), and fear-based things harness our lizard-brain, and our lizard brain is never spiritual or enlightened.

The more I study human nature through a Swedenborgian lens, the more I believe that fear is our greatest teacher and greatest enemy.  It is our darkest darkness.  When Swedenborg says such things as “we are nothing but evil,” and “we are selfish and worldly,” and “we incline to evils of every kind,” I now understand that to mean that, left to ourselves, we are scared out of our minds.  Of course we are!  We are born tiny, naked, hungry, wet, and powerless! And in our terror we default to our lizard brain, and our lizard brain is completely unenlightened. That’s when the “selfish and worldly” nature wins out.  But that lizard brain isn’t our fault.  It just is.  And it can be overcome.

So rather than hide and shame and cover up our darkness, maybe we can ask it what it is most afraid of?  For the more you and I can discover what is really going on underneath our anger or shame, our confusion or outburst or clumsy remark, the more we can realize that it was never about who broke the stereo, or who forgot to lock the door, or who said what about who to whom, and then what she said back, and isn't that terrible….  It is always because we are scared.

We are afraid that we will discover that we really are unlovable.  We are afraid that we will be rejected, because we are too stupid or too untalented or too clumsy or….  We are afraid that we just don't belong, or that we made a big mistake and everyone will see it and despise us…. 

The fears are usually very primitive and pretty much the same across the board.   

It is just how we are.  We are not evil; we are terrified.  But the more we practice seeing what the fears are and the more matter-of-fact we can be about these things that run inside us, the less we need to cover them up or feel ashamed about them.  Instead we name them and own them and work on behaving responsibly around them.  We waste energy being ashamed of our nature.  It is simply how we are made.  We need to practice being responsible and open, which is very different from shaming ourselves and hiding.

Correspondentially, we are seeing a shift in the world of spiritual thinking to a “healing” model of spirituality from the more punitive, shaming “compartmentalize and chop the evil off” model that has reigned so long.  Very much like our advancements in medicine, in which we continue to develop ways to save body parts that are at risk rather than amputate them, in spirituality we are learning how to have compassion for, heal, and reintegrate parts of our personalities and souls that we formerly thought shameful and irredeemable.  For example look at how alcoholics were viewed and treated seventy years ago compared to today.  Then, alcoholics were shamed and blamed for their condition and considered worthless, hopeless, and lost.  Nowadays many alcoholics confess without shame that they are alcoholics, they seek and get help, and they live useful lives reintegrated into society acknowledging and behaving responsibly in relationship with their condition. 

And these recovering alcoholics are the best and wisest angels in supporting, aiding, and guiding others who struggle with the same disease to find recovery.  Their wisdom drawn from their darkness becomes a potent gift in service to others.  It becomes their strength.

For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home.

Now, how do you behave when a visitor walks in our church doors?  Do you stare at them and ask another member who it is?  Do you say a quick hello and then scurry off to talk to your comfortable friends?  Or do you get over your personal shyness and go introduce yourself?  Do you remember how hard it is to be in their shoes, and decide to ease their experience?  Do you try to set them at ease and make them comfortable because they are a guest in your church home?  How good are you at helping newcomers feel included, respected, safe, and at ease?

Now remember.  Every single one of us has some level of anxiety when it comes to talking to new people.  Every single one.  Never assume you are the only one, and “it is those other people who are comfortable talking to visitors that should do it.”  Those people that you assume are comfortable making small-talk?—They have worked at that skill.  They have practiced it and honed it until it looks effortless, but it never starts easy.   And for most of us, it takes a serious inner push for us to reach out to any stranger at any gathering, no matter who or where we are.  I know!

Then remember.  It is hard work to come to a new church.  It is harder work to keep coming, unless the people there welcome you back and act truly glad to see you again.  Put yourself in the visitor’s shoes and show hospitality.  Be interested in them.  Make a point of learning their name and be glad to see them again, even if you've forgotten their name! 

Because, if you, yes you, commit to being friendlier and kinder to strangers, in virtually any setting, you will gradually undergo an inner transformation---where at first you were pasting friendliness on the outside of yourself and wielding your rehearsed phrases, “Hi, have we met?” “Hello, I’m Jane church member.  Welcome.  Is this your first time here?” you will begin to discover that soon you really care about that other person.  Curiosity and compassion will begin to trump self-consciousness; phrases and questions will flow more easily, and eventually you will forget yourself in the delight of discovering someone new to know.  
Because when you reach out to another to build relationship, you are reaching out to a facet of God.  If you do it to the least among us, you do it to God—to the goodness in that other, with the hope and prayer that you might both be blessed by the encounter.

In the past several years, BCNJ has welcomed God in the form of Wesley Seekamp, and God in the form of Jody and Lee Evans.  We have welcomed God in the form of the Rudy/Mozak family, and have welcomed back God in the form of the Trott and Legard families.  God willing, we will continue to welcome God in the form of old friends and new, individuals and families, as folks find their way to our doors and discover a place of worship that is good for their souls.
God willing.

God commands us to welcome the stranger. 

So, next time you find yourself pointing at a stranger and leaning over to a friend to ask in a whisper, “who is that?’  Be sure to go the next step and speak to that unknown person face-to-face as soon as you can.  Say, “Hi, I am so-and-so.  It’s nice to have you here today,” or something like that.  The Holy Spirit is very good at giving us ideas of what to say.  Will it be uncomfortable sometimes?  Yes.  Will it be awkward sometimes?  Yes.  But it won’t kill you.  In fact it will lead you to more spiritual riches than you can imagine.  Get ready.  Treasures beyond treasures await us behind that next set of bright eyes.

Amen
Originally “How Inclusive Are We?" July 19, 2009


The Readings

Exodus 19:16-19 and 23:9  (NLT)
16 On the morning of the third day, thunder roared and lightning flashed, and a dense cloud came down on the mountain. There was a long, loud blast from a ram’s horn, and all the people trembled. 17 Moses led them out from the camp to meet with God, and they stood at the foot of the mountain. 18 All of Mount Sinai was covered with smoke because the Lord had descended on it in the form of fire. The smoke billowed into the sky like smoke from a brick kiln, and the whole mountain shook violently. 19 As the blast of the ram’s horn grew louder and louder, Moses spoke, and God thundered his reply.
23:9 “You must not oppress the stranger. You know what it’s like to be a stranger, for you yourselves were once strangers in the land of Egypt.

Matthew 25: 34-40  “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. 36 was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’
37 “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? 38 When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? 39 Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ 40 And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My sisters or brothers, you did it to Me.’

AC 4958. “Hungering” is referring to a spiritual longing for goodness because in the internal sense 'bread' is referring to goodness and loving-kindness, indeed food in general is referring to all goodness. “Thirsting” is referring to a spiritual longing for truth because in the internal sense wine (and also water) mean the spiritual truth or the “truth of faith.”  'A stranger' is referring to one who wishes to receive spiritual instruction…. 

Monday, July 22, 2013

"My Blanket And Me"  - 
aka 
"Ego Defense Mechanisms: Necessary Supports? or Walls That Prevent Growth?"
Rev. Alison Longstaff
July 21th, 2013

Meditation: Though the human body is born complete in one moment, the birth of the human heart is an ongoing process.  It is being birthed in every experience of your life. Everything that happens to you has the potential to deepen you.  All the possibilities of your human destiny are asleep in your soul.  You are here to realize and honour these possibilities.
-John O'Donohue-





          My talk today is based on sacred texts by Charles Schultz and Dr Seuss---okay, a pretenda-Dr Seuss, but I’m pretty sure Scott Grace was channeling Dr. Seuss when he wrote today’s reading.  Two excellent sages.  I have to say, that one of the things that I love about Unitarians is that you accept guiding texts because they speak a truth, not because they are from an officially approved document.  You recognize and honour wisdom when you encounter it, period.  It need not come wearing an official, church-sanctioned cloak to be treated with respect.  I find this wonderfully refreshing.  And so today our lesson is from the Gospel of “Peanuts” by Charles Schultz.

         Let’s take a look at Linus Van Pelt and his blanket, and decide what sort of role his blanket plays in his life.  Linus is Charlie Brown’s best friend, and the bossy Lucy Van Pelt’s baby brother.  (Hmmmm.  Just having Lucy as an older sister explains the need for a security blanket for me.)  Linus sucks his thumb, with his trusty blanket thrown over his shoulder.  Wise beyond his years, Linus often manages to avoid Lucy’s bullying by outsmarting her or confusing her into submission. He comforts and reassures Charlie Brown by listening to Charlie’s endless tales of failure and discouragement. Deeply philosophical, Linus almost serves a pastoral role in the beloved comic strip.  With his unswerving faith in the Great Pumpkin, he’s not unlike many spiritual leaders today---respected and loved, even if his beliefs seem a little goofy….

            Despite ongoing campaigns from Snoopy, Lucy, and Linus’ grandmother to wrest the blanket from his grip forever, Linus successfully recovers his beloved blanket again and again throughout the strip; only leaving it gradually behind when he is truly ready, and by his own choice.  In the mean time, Linus’ blanket takes on a character of its own, dancing with him when they are reunited after each separation, and even carrying out sneak attacks on Lucy when she repeatedly tries to throw it in the trash burner. 

            Linus was unapologetic and unashamed of his blanket-dependency.  In one series of strips, his friend Roy warns him that he mustn't take his blanket to summer camp, for he will be teased mercilessly.  Linus takes his blanket, and with a deft flick of the wrist, snaps it at a large branch, bringing it crashing to the ground.  In the next frame Linus remarks, “They never tease me more than once.” 

           How can you not love the guy?  Bright, soft spoken, flawed, yet good-hearted, Linus resonates with a part in each of us.  He is a softer, wiser side.  A kind side. A brave and honest side.  Yet a side that is easily rendered vulnerable. He is intelligent, but profoundly disoriented if his primary comfort and defense is too far away.

          My two girls each had a special blanket growing up.  (Jordan had a pacifier and a wooden ukulele.  What can I say?  That’s Jordan.)  But my girls may still have their ragged scraps of blanket somewhere.  Jennie’s was crocheted with green and yellow granny squares; Eden’s was light blue and knitted by her grandma.  Soft and woven with love, each blanket came on every vacation, and were the first line of defense against pain and sadness. 

            Those blankets offer a tender metaphor for how we adults care for the child inside each of us.  Within each of us is the child we once were, with all his or her memories, fears, and insecurities.  Sometimes the smallest cue can take us back to an early age, and our coping mechanisms regress right alongside us.

         And if you are like me, my ego is always right there, ready to berate me and call me names, just like today’s Dr. Seussian reading.  I am too stupid or too clumsy.  I am too loud, or too quiet.  I am a fraud, and someone is about to out me.  The list is endless.  And when I fall prey to those sorts of thoughts, you will usually find me moments later doing a face-plant in a vat of chocolate ice cream.

            Over the course of my own therapy, and in my training to become a therapist, I have had often found myself reflecting on human defense mechanisms---their reasons for existing as well as the problems they can cause us.  I have been paying attention to those things that we do to reassure ourselves, to comfort ourselves, to reduce anxiety, and to restore a sense of well-being.  Some of these things are beneficial in the long run; others, not-so-much.  Some of us might turn to food to feel better; some might turn to alcohol.  Some of us scrub the bathroom.  Some watch endless movies or whole seasons of television.  Some go running, or practice yoga; and some bury themselves in work.    Some of us beat ourselves up inside and resolve to try harder.  (Because maybe if we impress a few more people and make a few more dollars, we’ll then prove we are worthy of love?)  Some of us phone a friend, or repeatedly check Facebook for “Like”s.  Some go out to a bar or coffee shop for a while. Some go shopping. Some watch sports. Some sleep, and sleep, and sleep. And occasionally, one of us might go out to find someone else’s life that we can try to control and fix.  Because that feels so much better than trying to tackle our own messy life.  Admit it….  

           What do you do?  What things or activities do you turn to for security and comfort? What serves as your blanket?
            From a therapist’s perspective such defense mechanisms make complete sense.  Even the ones that seem destructive serve a purpose.  They are attempts to escape pain. I have nothing but compassion for everyone, from the Coke addict to the coke (cocaine) addict.  I know what it is like when the pain is so great that nothing can stand between me and Ben and Jerry’s “Phish Food” or Dove’s “Unconditional Chocolate” ice cream.
             
             We are nothing if not creative and adaptive beings, and we are astonishingly good at finding ways to survive horrific experiences.  I cannot judge.  I don’t know what a given fill-in-the-blank addict has been through.  My heart breaks for any one of us whose coping mechanisms become themselves a new source of pain.

            Our job as mature adults is not to judge ourselves for resorting to less-than-ideal ways to escape psychic pain; our job is to do the best we can to gain enough perspective, that we can decide which “supports” to drop from our repertoire,and which to keep.  Some coping mechanisms, like cleaning or running, can be beneficial habits for a life-time. But others only stand between us and a fuller, richer life.  And then they are not truly serving us at all, they have become part of the problem.

            Linus and his blanket illustrate some real truths about the very human ways we find to cope with the
painful sides of life. When I imagined today’s message, I likened Linus’ blanket to ego defense mechanisms, which are both good and bad. But the more I look at the example Schultz gave us, I see that Linus’ blanket represents pretty much only the creatively helpful comforts we draw to ourselves.  Unlike the ego in Scott Grace’s Seussian rip-off, Linus’ blanket doesn't seek to strangle Linus, or beat him, or smother him, or blind him.  It doesn't even leave him in a diabetic coma with chocolate smeared on his face. 

            Linus’ blanket never stops him from a loving choice. It actually stands by him in making courageous choices.  He does, eventually leave it behind in the strip, but the separation is very gentle and gradual.  When he is ready.
            So what are your comfort mechanisms? Is your blankie truly your best friend?  Does it support your growth, or hinder it?
            No matter what role it plays, I invite you to take a moment to thank your blanket for being the friend it has been.  Then thank yourself for finding creative ways to survive this crazy, unpredictable life.  And only if you so choose, may you find strength in leaving the less helpful aspects of your coping behind, when you are ready.  Amen. 

Benediction: May the journey be rich, and the landings soft.  May you ever feel supported, and may you find inside yourself the love that passes all understanding.  Amen.