I ask you to put your politics aside for a moment. Maybe more. Put your politics aside not because politics and spirituality are not connected or shouldn’t be connected. They are, whether we like it or not. I’m suggesting we put aside our politics because they have become costumes garishly disguising our deepest needs, masking the truth that needs to be laid bare. So with what I’m about to say, do your best to avoid rushing to the solution supplied by your political convictions. I promise you can pick them up later.

We live in the midst of chaos and constant change. Of course, every age believes theirs is more tumultuous than another, so let’s not compare or rank our situation. We can simply acknowledge this as true. And as long as we’re walking down this road of truth, let’s be honest that some of our stress is our own making. We don’t make time for real rest. Nature abhors a vacuum, but humans have shoved double the activity into whatever time they have. Because we can.

At the same time, we witness events and tragedies beyond our control. Volcanic eruptions destroy homes … active shooters terrorize schools, communities … serious diseases visit our loved ones. We watch the news with shock: the lack of civility, the blatant injustice, the repeated inhumanity. We feel the mounting pressure at work, the short-tempered impatience with … well, everything.

Notice your breathing. When we’re stressed, our breathing becomes shallow. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need to take a deep breath. You actually need to exhale. When we breathe shallowly or hold our breath, carbon dioxide builds up in our lungs—and increases stress in our body. Our autonomic system wants—NEEDS—oxygen. But your lungs don’t have enough room to take in oxygen, because they’re sill filled with un-exhaled carbon dioxide. You need to exhale. Repeat it with me now, you need to exhale.

The thing is, this also holds true metaphorically. What you take into your awareness must also be expelled. With intention. Unfortunately, what we typically do instead is mindlessly chase some activity to distract ourselves that never really does the trick. We keep trying to draw in happiness like oxygen. We binge watch Netflix. Shop. Sleep. None of these things are bad in and of themselves. They just aren’t what we need.

Let’s just focus on one aspect. How much time do you spend watching the news? And what do you *do* about what you take in mentally? Nothing? Kvetch? Feel like all is hopeless? Well, I hate to tell you, but that’s not processing what you took in. That’s swimming in it.  You have to exhale.

First of all, do you actually know how much news you take in each day? If you’ve ever done a food diary, it’s the same idea. Set aside one week to write down how much time you spend reading news and opinions—online or in the paper—listening to it in the car, watching it on TV, etc. After each entry, write down one word that represents what you feel and think. Like most of us who mindlessly snack on food, you may be surprised by the total you’re digesting.

Now you need to exhale. Literally and metaphorically. If you watch an hour of news each day, spend an hour each day doing something directly related to what you just absorbed into your body.

• Donate a proportionate amount of money to a charity directly related to the topic that disturbed you most.
• Write an email or make calls to your senators or congress people to affect change on the issue; the measure of success is not whether they make change, it’s whether you make change by contacting them.
• Make a plan to shift the dynamics within your own community. Immigration issues concerning you? Find a local organization you can volunteer with. And actually show up. Regularly.
• When in doubt, meditate. For toxic news, the practice of tonglen is particularly helpful. So is metta meditation. If nothing else, spend an hour in silence—no music, no reading, no doing of any sort. Just breathe. Doing nothing is one of the most subversive things you can do.
• Journal about what bothers you and where that comes from. Don’t let yourself get away with restating talking points and political positions. Ask yourself, why is THAT a problem for me? And when you have that answer, ask yourself again, and why is THAT a problem? What’s underneath your convictions and your emotions? Where has this come up before for you? Write about that. Don’t let yourself settle for surface-level answers. If your journaling resembles  something someone else could write, you need to keep digging. You can’t resolve what you don’t recognize as your own to heal within yourself first.
• Find a coach or spiritual mentor to talk about what’s going on. A spiritual approach is quite different than talking things over with your friends and family. You can process things at a deeper level with a qualified professional.
• Walk it off. Or run it off—you get the idea. Whatever you do, you need to find something physical to process the mental angst. We can’t think our way out of everything. We need to embody our way forward. And it needs to be an intentional way to “get out” the stuff we took in. Approach your workout mindfully—not as a way to look better or lose weight, but as a way to physically expel the time exposed to troubling situations.

Pay more attention to the true cycle of life, and do your part to make one day a little better. You don’t need to save the world but you do need to take one step that is yours to take.

For a little extra inspiration, here’s one of my favorite artists, Carrie Newcomer, performing Breathe In, Breathe Out.

In My Soul, Rabia al-Basri

In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.

Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.

Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,

where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,

where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?

In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church

that dissolve, that
dissolve in

God.

Almost two months ago I met with the Commission on Ministry of the Christian Church. A couple folks had suggested to me that, in addition to my ordination from One Spirit, I should consider seeking standing in the Christian Church. This was not originally on my radar, but I thought it could be worth exploring. So I completed all the appropriate paperwork and requirements to request my first meeting with the Commission.

Made up of both clergy and lay leaders from the denomination, the Commission supports and guides candidates for ministry who are recommended by their local churches. The intent is to be grassroots oriented rather than top-down. It was clear from the start that I was NOT their typical candidate.

“Can you explain how ordination works in this … this … interfaith seminary called … what’s its name? … One Spirit?”

Although I explained that the process and decision is not much different than in Christian seminaries, they couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around the concept of interfaith ordination. The unspoken question that hung in the air was, by whose authority are you ordained? I decided to be polite and not mention how often I’d met a number of Christian clergy members and wondered the exact same thing.

“Do you consider yourself Christian?”

I paused here, because I wanted to answer authentically and be true to myself. And I recalled a quote by Maya Angelou: “I’m grateful to be a practicing Christian. I’m always amazed when people say, ‘I’m a Christian.’ I think, ‘Already?’ It’s a process. You know, you keep trying. And blowing it and trying and blowing it.”

So I gave my version of that along with a bit of process theology. I explained that I prefer to think of myself as “Christian-ing,” a work in progress. They were clearly not satisfied, because they asked the same essential question three more times in a variety of ways. I wished I’d asked them if they’d checked how Jesus would answer that question.

Then came the question that really took the wind out of me.

“Have you tried the Unitarians? Why don’t you seek ordination through them? Why would you consider ordination as a Christian minister?”

I couldn’t speak. I felt kicked in the stomach. I’m sorry, what did you just ask me? Seriously?

I took a deep breath and tried to stop the tears from welling up as I said, “Because Christianity is my native language of faith. When I studied Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism—with every religion I study, my brain makes automatic connections to Christianity. I’m not trying to, it just happens. All I know is, studying other religions has made me understand and live my faith differently. And I would like to help others do the same thing.”

Here’s where the traditional church could use a wake-up call. Interfaith doesn’t mean someone is “unfaithful” to a particular tradition. Nor does it mean that a person stops loving a particular tradition. It’s a both/and path, not either/or.

Authority, identity, purity. Can you hear that? Authority, identity, purity. These were the primary themes of their questions, or should I say, their doubts. Authority: Who authorizes your ordination? Identity: Who ARE you, anyway? Purity: We need you to choose one way. When a person, organization, or institution doubles-down on authority, identity, and purity, you can guess that they’re operating from a place of fear. They’re protecting and defending. They’re not operating from a place of expansiveness or radical hospitality. Love—and Spirit—does not make these demands.

Jesus did not teach or heal by the permission of the religious authorities. It got him in a heap load of trouble. As for his identity, most everyone—even his closest disciples—misunderstood who he really was. He had to continually correct them, sometimes rebuke them, for their misperceptions. And more than 2000 years later, even the most gifted theologians need pages and pages to explain his both/and—human and divine—nature. Was he pure? I believe so. In the same way that light is both wave AND particle. And by the way, so are we.

I’m in no way comparing myself to Jesus. I just find it wildly ironic that the Christian Church, which relies so heavily on Biblical study, has forgotten its roots. It also makes me extraordinarily sad. Not for me, personally. Like I said, having standing in the Christian Church was not part of my plan so this event was not determining my future. I’m sad because many churches lack the self-awareness to see how they’re filtering out all sorts of people who would like to breathe new life into the faith.

This is also my greatest hope: that those of us who have experienced this filtering out will flock together. We don’t need a dedicated building. We don’t need “authorized clergy.” We don’t need to hold fundraising campaigns, run committee meetings, and devote our time to operationalizing our faith. There’s nothing wrong with these things, per se. They’re just not requirements for us to come together and seek the Sacred together. In fact, without them, the Way becomes a lot more simple.