Failure

My friend and colleague Rev. Dr. Kathy Hurt recenlty posted this on Facebook. And, she has given me permission to repost it here! What an amazing thing -- A "Musuem of Personal Failure".

     On my birthday last week, I read a beguiling story in the Washington Post about a Canadian man who set up a “museum of personal failures.”  He was inspired to do so after yet another rejection by one he loved.  Weary of feeling shame, and hearing that such a museum existed in Europe, he decided to set up such a museum in his hometown.

     The story has stayed with me, inviting deeper reflection:  how meaningful, I think, to have a dedicated museum that is not filled with inspiring art or beautiful objects but absolutely human, often predictable, failures.  Apparently people far and wide heard about this and sent in contributions, some amusing (amusing to me, though probably not amusing to the person sending in the object), some heartbreaking, like a statue constructed entirely of job rejection notices and pink slips, an unworn wedding dress in a cardboard box.  I thought about what I might send if I were so inclined, sorted mentally through my quite lengthy list of failures over the course of my life, and came up with a theme of not listening:  many of my failures came about when I turned away from what people were saying, what God/the universe was saying, what my own heart was saying.  Perhaps in this next year of my life, I can listen more often, more carefully, more deeply to all that is said to me, and come away with fewer failures.  If I were to submit an object symbolizing these failures to this museum, it might be a broken phone.

     Of course we would never see such a museum established in this country, where leaders never acknowledge failures of their own, endlessly point out the failure of opponents, and cast blame all about or simply deny anything is wrong.  To be willing to have one’s failures exhibited in a museum requires a degree of humility, a willingness not to take oneself too seriously, an acceptance of human imperfection, all qualities absent in most of those who set themselves before us as people we should admire and support and follow.

     But it gives me heart that in one place, a few brave individuals are openly showing where they have failed.  May more of us find a way to do the same, people who fail and keep going, imperfections and all.

5 Daily Habits of Buddhist monks

I recently came upon this video from Facebook where a monk talks about the 5 simple habits that they practice each day. While the haibts are simple, they are not easy!! But, look at what the marvelous monks have achieved during their peace walk acorss the US. If we could have even a sliver of what they possess, it would make such a difference. I bless them in their final days of walking acorss the country. I marvel at the power of their silent and faithful trek. And I bless us in our attempts to learn this peaceful countenance from them.

Clisk HERE to see this short video of 5 daily habits that matter.

23rd Psalm

This morning I read the 23rd psalm.  It was in a book about poetry.  I still remember it by heart from my early Sunday school class.  Though I haven’t thought of it in years and because I don’t have the same theology I did then, the words do not bring solace.  But they do bring up memory… I would probably cry if I stood with a group of people reciting this psalm today – not because I think the dead (or I) will “dwell in the house of the Lord forever”. – but because I treasure the ritual of people gathering together, stopping their usual lives and reciting words together.  Words that have ancient history.  Words that remain in the sacred folds of the brain long after they were planted there.  To me, ritual almost always moves me, regardless of the particular meaning of the words.  The words are all we have to point the way or to express what our heart can’t quite say.

            Did you too learn this Psalm by heart?  Do you have memories of reciting it with others?  Has its meaning changed for you over time?

Psalm 23:  The Lord is my Shepherd

The Lord is my shepherd;  I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he

            leadeth me beside the still waters

He restoreth my soul:  he leadeth me in the paths of

            righteousness for his name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow

            of death, I will fear no evil:  for thou art with me;

            thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of

            mine enemies:  thou anointest my head with oil

            my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the

            days of my life:  and I will dwell in the house of

            the Lord forever.

And, here is my very much less poetic, but contemporary take on this Psalm for me today;

I have no shepherd, still I want

someone to lie down with me

in green meadows, beside a still pond.

This would restore my soul.  Someone

who knows a path in the forest

where we might walk and talk

about our own shadows.

Someone who will bear with me,

comfort me, and who will

share their own sacred story.

The world is a banquet,

a table where I might

reconcile with mine enemies,

a sanctuary where I can anoint myself,

where there is enough to fill

everyone’s cup to overflowing.

Surely goodness and mercy are available

to me and to you,

if we but open our eyes every day.

This place here and now where I will

not dwell forever – yet, it is enough.

            ~Penny Hackett-Evans