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New College Berkeley

Walking in Newness

Welcome to New College Berkeley's blog, "Walking in Newness." Each month a member of the NCB faculty will post a personal reflection on their life of faith. Click here for the complete list of blog posts starting from September 2013.
Apr 1, 2017

April 2017
Katarina Stenstedt

 

 When they arrive, they leave their phones in a basket by the door and grab a bite to eat. We light a candle that's in the center of the table within our circle, a reminder of God in our midst. We pray for God to enlighten us.

 "How are you, and what's true for you right now?" This is the question we start with, and one evening I had them illustrate their answer by choosing an item to place on the table. The person who chose a photo of a compass said she felt a growing certainty about the road ahead. Our "camel" felt burdened. Our "lone wolf" was worried about the future—would leaving Berkeley after graduation mean unwelcome solitude?

 Each month as I've offered group spiritual direction to these UC Berkeley undergraduates, they've had the opportunity to place their hopes and fears on the table, so to speak, laying them before God and each other in a contemplative setting.

 We often use the prayer of lectio divina, a technique of prayerful reflection on a piece of scripture, poetry, or art. One evening, one of the students chose Rublev's Trinity as her focus for prayer. This icon shows the three persons of the Trinity encircling a table. The Creator gazes at the Spirit, the Spirit gazes at the communion cup that sits on the table in their midst, and Christ points to the cup and bows his head to the Creator—a circle of loving interconnectedness. After spending time with this image in silence, the student noted that the bodies of the three figures face towards the viewer, and the table between them is spacious. "It looks like there's room for me in the picture," she said.

 It seems to me that life with God is nothing less than an invitation to that table. God is willing to include us in that mysterious circle of love and relatedness—a circle that's beyond our comprehension. And spiritual direction can be a representation of God's table for us, a table where we have freedom and space to lay out the pieces of our lives, and where there's room for us to join the circle just as we are.

 In the group we also use the prayer of examen, in which we focus prayerful attention on everyday life looking for signs of the Spirit's presence and action. One of the questions we sit with is "Where has God been showing up?" and it turns out God's been showing up everywhere for this group: In a trip to see family that helped one person remember who she is; in a conflict-filled project that turned out, in the light of prayerful reflection, to be a gift; in listening to music for a class; in meeting a prison minister and becoming inspired about vocation.

 Over time, patterns can emerge in the prayer of examen, and this can help with discernment about life decisions. Praying like this can also bring up questions. For example, one person had spent retreat time with the group instead of doing a school assignment, and the assignment had turned out not to count. "Was that God, or just luck?" she wondered. "How does God work?"

 Nobody in the group tried to come up with an answer, and I'm grateful for that. It's the kind of question every person needs to puzzle out for herself. In a way it's the question we explore in spiritual direction—how does God work in my life? What's my lived theology?

 We sometimes close our group spiritual direction time by having each person share what the gift of the evening was for them. One student said she appreciated having me read scripture and poems aloud during our time together rather than reading them herself. "I'm trained to analyze and make connections when looking at words," she said, "and when I don't have a piece of paper in front of me, my mind doesn't need to start jumping around." Another person had been sick and said that although the extra sleep and time away from class had been restful, our spiritual direction group provided a "different" kind of rest. This "different" rest is what contemplative prayerfulness brings. It's the kind of rest that’s possible when we slow down and use the spiritual tools of the heart, letting the sharp tools of analysis stay idle for a little while.

 After our final prayer, we say amen and blow out the candle, and the students collect their phones and head off to potlucks, movies, study, sleep. My prayer for them as they leave is that they'll find themselves often at God's spacious table, more and more aware of God's many gracious invitations in their lives.

 

Katarina Stenstedt is a professional editor and writer, and a New College Berkeley spiritual director.

 

 

 

Posted on Apr 1, 2017 at 1:56 AM
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Feb 28, 2017

Blog Photo New College Berkeley

March 2017
John White

 

It's hard not to pay attention to Brené Brown, whose most recent book is Daring Greatly (NY: Avery, 2012). She has several TED talks that are among the most popular ever. She's also done those PBS special series that usually go to the pre-eminent psychology person of an era (years ago it was John Bradshaw).

What Brown is most known for is her research on vulnerability; in fact the subtitle of this current best seller is How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. I was preparing a project that included the subject of vulnerability, so I decided to give it a read. The popularity of the book hit me when I went to two bookstores and found it sold out.

I didn't expect to find a lot new on the topic since I've been a psychologist for 30+ years and much of my work has been with men and all the ways to support their greater vulnerability, especially in relationships. Reading Daring Greatly I discovered that I really liked Brown's sense of humor and how she manages to steer clear of most clichés on the topic. I've recommended it to several clients.

What I found most interesting, though, is that what she wrote hit me in a completely unexpected way. I've always thought of myself as reasonably vulnerable, but Brené Brown pushed me to take a hard look at myself. I was well acquainted with the fact that my choice to go into a helping profession was influenced by my being a caretaker in my family. The same role developed with my friends, similar to most people I know who have gone into this line of work.

Where Brown's Daring Greatly shook me up was to show me that my caretaking has become how I AVOID vulnerability. By listening, drawing people out, and giving a broadly positive response (with good intent that is usually appreciated), I was also hiding my own strong feelings, inhibiting remarks that might rock the boat, and seldom asking directly for what I need.

It was embarrassing for me to have this laid bare. Here I'm supposed to know myself—but no. Also, seeing my behavior as a way of playing it safe made me chafe, since I usually like to think of myself as an adventurous fellow.

The next thing to do, of course, was to experiment with opening up more. So I made small changes, because nobody deserved to be shocked or hurt by me suddenly spinning the dials on how I operate. Several times I took a deep breath in a meeting and said how I really felt, rather than making a safe comment reflecting what others were saying. Or I gave a direct answer to a client about what I think he should do, rather than "exploring" what he thinks. Twice I let a close friend know I did not appreciate his sharp words, when usually I'd just have let it settle down.

The funniest experience was working up my courage to ask my daughter her opinion on glasses frames I was considering (New #1). "Round frames would not look good on you," she said. I teased that her outspoken response hurt my feelings a little (New #2). I persisted (New #3) and told her, "I'm tired of my look and I want to change it up" New #4). And she proceeded to find a whole class of glasses online that she thought would look great on me. I take that with me to the optometrist next week.

Not earth-shattering by any means. But it's where I injected more of me into relationships, beyond my usual caretaking and facilitating roles. These new conversations feel more interesting, and at times funny (I had been worrying my sense of humor was drying up!). I realize people give me way more latitude for response than the narrow rules I’ve set for myself. I'm still far from "daring greatly," but there's a little more liveliness. Maybe great daring is coming next…

Posted on Feb 28, 2017 at 7:11 PM
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Feb 1, 2017

February 2017
Susan Phillips

  The new year has begun in a deluge of rain in the Bay Area—with even a few minutes of hail and snow in Berkeley on January 23!—and a new administration in Washington.Spring programs are beginning at New College Berkeley, and some are continuing into the second half of the academic year.

  Our spiritual direction groups and the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises groups are mid-way through their nine-month journey. So far in these groups we’ve witnessed new life coming, the passing of loved ones and loved identities, the healing of relationships and health, responses to a new president elected and inaugurated, and a host of challenges and blessings held before God in a covenanted circle of praying friends.

  Sometimes in our lives and in the lives of our communities, we wonder how we can be helpful. God invites us to pray! Prayer isn’t passive. It’s an active engagement with the Holy One who sustains us and whose comforting and correcting grace shapes our world. Prayer stretches our hearts and refreshes our minds with what at times is a radical reframing of our point of view. This is especially so in a group where various people’s voices are heard.

  Some of the spiritual direction groups have been meeting for years and will continue to do so, and most of them take a hiatus during the summer months. As the days lengthen and summer approaches, the people in the groups rest in the familiarity they have acquired with one another, which allows greater openness to the Holy Spirit among them.

  The practice of spiritual direction is a means of God’s grace. It’s a spiritual discipline that helps us pray as we weave the warp of the stories of our lives with the woof of God’s story. As we do so, spiritual maturity is nurtured through prayerful reflection and another’s or others’ directive attention.

  Stories and the knowledge they contain help us remember how we’ve been shaped, who we are, and how we are known. We grasp for the truth of our own life story and grapple with the knowledge conveyed by the narratives of our culture and families. As Christians, our personal stories rest in and are shaped by the story of our faith, the story of Jesus Christ.

  The word “narrative” comes from the Indo-European root “gna” which means both “to tell” and “to know.” The Greek root of the word narrative is “gnosis,” knowledge. It’s the stuff of wisdom and guides our spirituality. The knowledge contained in stories is fundamentally relational. A word association exercise with “story,” would likely elicit “telling” as a first response. Stories are told and heard. The listener—or Listener—evokes the story, just as much as the teller weaves it.

  Our faith is informed by narrative knowledge, relying on stories to help us know how to live faithfully, even and especially in times of change. This relational knowledge of God helps us rest in faith, rather than in the emergency stances of fear and anger. The stories of our faith—biblical and more recent—as well as our own stories and those we hear from our brothers and sisters, shape our lives. In particular they impact us in terms of memory, meaning, morality, and mending (healing might be the better word, but requires resisting “mending’s” alliterative pull). All these aspects of story-telling and story-listening are at play in NCB’s spiritual direction and Ignatian groups.

   Memory

  Stories elicit emotion, and emotions embed memory in our bodies. Preachers and professional story-tellers of all kinds know that if you want someone to remember what you’ve said, engage their feelings. If we laugh, cry, or feel any strong emotion, that experience will stay with us more than if we weren’t moved by it. In the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, we pray through the life of Christ as presented in the Gospels. We imagine ourselves with Jesus, as his disciples and followers were with him. Having participated in these prayers for several years now, I hear the stories in a new way, as though I’d been there. For instance, when I hear a reference to Jesus’ Transfiguration, I know what it feels like to cower on the ground with the disciples when God thundered: “This is my beloved son. Listen to him!” And, I know what I felt when I imagined Jesus coming to me as I cowered, touched me, and moved me away from fear.

  Spiritual directors intentionally guide people toward remembered stories of grace-filled experience. There is blessing in the original experience as well as in re-experiencing it through telling the story. When I remember my experience with the Transfiguration account, my soul is shaped as I contemplate God’s glory and receive the Spirit’s renewing grace (2 Cor. 3:18)

  Meaning

  Stories also cultivate meaning. Religion, etymologically, is that which binds together, just as ligaments are binding agents in the body.We’re bound by the meaning that religion offers, and we’re bound relationally to God and others in the Body of Christ. Personal stories bind us together internally, through coherence and purpose, as do the stories we call history, literature, and Scripture. In the spiritual direction groups we hear all these varieties of story, and the practice affords a regular time to bring all these stories into communication with one another.

  Sometimes directees have been exposed to biblical teaching that leaves them with the impression that God is merely a harsh schoolmaster and judge looking down from above. That is a narrative that has been metabolized and associated with feelings, self-image, hopes, and fears. Yet, inklings of a different spiritual narrative have brought the directee to a New College Berkeley spiritual direction group. There’s hope that a loving relationship with God might be forged, perhaps a relationship based on honest conversation.  

  In the spiritual direction groups and the Ignatian Exercises, people often keep a journal throughout the year of their experiences of God. Those journals become a florilegium; in Latin, “a gathering of flowers,” and the classical term for a compilation of writings. Florilegia are books that monks and others keep of Scriptures and holy writings that have shaped their hearts as they’ve prayed with them. Each person’s florilegium, like Scripture itself, recounts personal, human encounters with God. The narrative of the directee’s life with God holds meaning that anchors him or her to God, especially when those experiences might be swept away by life-sapping ideas about God.  

  Morality

  Narrative carries moral heft. “What shall I do to gain eternal life?”: Let me tell you a story. Jesus taught us how to live by telling us stories. Robert Wuthnow (Acts of Compassion, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993) found that one of the most significant factors in whether young people engaged in volunteer activities was whether or not they knew the story of the Good Samaritan. Without delineating ethical principles or arousing a rational debate, a robust morality is conveyed through story.  

  Spiritual directors are with directees as stories emerge and enlighten. A directee’s experience might be like that of the apostle Peter by the shore of Galilee after Jesus’ resurrection. Peter had denied Jesus three times, yet Jesus didn’t chastise him for that. Jesus asked him three times if he loved him. With each affirmation, Peter was invited to be Jesus’ under-shepherd, feeding the sheep, just as the Good Shepherd does. So, too, a directee praying with this passage in the Ignatian Exercises, might feel beloved by Jesus and invited to serve others, even in ways that are difficult and lowly.

  In the group setting, the directees are supported by others who witness their experience of God. Peter, too, had the fellowship of other disciples around him bearing witness to his call. The witness of others to our spiritual life-story helps strengthen our moral resolve, and also attunes our discernment through the holy listening others do on our behalf. Perseverance and discernment are crucial to integrity, parts of the moral force of sharing our narratives.  

  The morality that emerges from narrative is full of grace. It isn’t a light that scorches and destroys. Rather, like the Light of the World, it is one that illuminates, warms, and, laser-like, molds us into disciples.  

  Mending

  Narrative also serves a healing function. I mention this as a separate category, but my belief is that constructing healthy memory, weaving meaning, and fortifying morality are all generative of spiritual health. Additionally, there is evidence that telling one’s story fosters mental and physical healing.

  Studies have found that recovering from traumatic experiences can be expedited by writing about those experiences for others to read, or speaking about them to others who are listening. Writing or speaking for an attentive other, turns experiences into narratives. This has a healing effect, as measured in a variety of ways, including immune responsiveness, pain tolerance, and quicker healing time (see, for example, the research of J. W. Pennebaker). This is healing work. Many believe that it’s only through re-experiencing painful feelings in a safe and loving environment that healing can occur.

  So as we enter 2017—New College Berkeley’s 40th anniversary year!—I’m delighted to witness the work of God’s Holy Spirit through the spiritual direction groups around the Bay Area, including several with UC Berkeley students, and the Ignatian Spiritual Exercise groups. This is the transformative, healing work of prayer!

Posted on Feb 1, 2017 at 1:35 AM
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Jan 1, 2017

Blog Photo New College Berkeley

January 2017
Sharon Gallagher

Give Praise to the Lord, O my soul; let not all His blessings go from your memory. ~ Psalm 103:2

This January as we anticipate the new year, we also reflect on the past year. Remembering what God has done for us in the past can shape how we face the future. The people of God seem to need constant reminders. Hebrew Scriptures repeatedly called the Israelites to remember God’s faithfulness and commands:

You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day. (Deuteronomy 5:15)

Remember and do not forget how you provoked the Lord your God to wrath in the wilderness. From the day you came out of the land of Egypt until you came to this place, you have been rebellious against the Lord. (Deuteronomy 9:7)

The New Testament also encourages us to remember what Jesus promised his followers:

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.(John 14:26)

The celebration of the last supper institutes an ongoing, physical, reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice for us on the Cross:

And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave to them, saying,Thisis my body which is given for you:this do in remembranceof me. (Luke 22:19)

Each fall I teach Writing Your Journey for New College Berkeley. In the class we write stories about our lives. As we write, we discover themes and gain new insights. We recognize what God has done for us and are reminded to trust God on the road ahead.

At times I’ve read passages from Madeleine L’Engle’s book Walking on Water as inspiration for the class participants. It’s a book L’Engle wrote on a ship going through stormy waters. The wildness of the storm reminded her of the creation narrative. The storm, she wrote, “Left her ill at ease and uncomfortable, and so I rested in the great story of the beginning.”

Out of this meditation L’Engle drew peace and insight:

The creation is God’s. It is El who has made us and not we ourselves. . . the creation is God’s and we are a part of it, and being part of creation is for us to be co-creators with El in the continuing joy of new creation. (Luke 22:19)

Writing about our lives is a way of gaining insight and a reminder of God’s faithfulness. As we draw fragments of memory into coherent narratives we begin to see our lives as a journey, instead of a series of random events.

We do this in a community of people who listen and comment. Our classmates may have insights and see patterns that we don’t see. They may also offer encouragement for the road ahead. Hearing how God has worked in the lives of others—through hard times and good times—encourages our walk of faith.

A member of our most recent class wrote:

I’ve had many good classes at the GTU, but this one was definitely the most encouraging to me in terms of my faith. . . . A safe space [was created] for us to all share our different perspectives, and [the instructor] also stressed how we can really listen to one another. This helped cultivate an atmosphere where we could witness to the unique work of God in each person’s life.

Our fall 2016 class is over. But we warmly invite you to enroll in the 2017 Writing Your Journey class, which will begin in September.

 

Sharon Gallagher (M.T.S.) is the editor of Radix magazine and NCB professor of Christianity and the Media. Her books include Finding Faith and Where Faith Meets Culture.

 

Posted on Jan 1, 2017 at 10:45 PM
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Nov 30, 2016

Blog Photo New College Berkeley

December 2016
Susan S. Phillips

Jesus said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what should I compare it?It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches.”~Luke 13:18-19

   The parable of the mustard seed evokes thanksgiving and a sense of advent. What was small and humble has grown and is useful! Even so, it remains a humble plant that people might not notice among the cultivated plants of the garden. Jesus tells us the Kingdom of God is like this.

   Jesus’ followers recounted this short parable in the three synoptic gospels. One mentions a garden (Luke) and another, a field (Matthew). Mark writes that the seed became the greatest of all vegetables, while Matthew and Luke write of a tree. In one account the seed is sown (Matthew), while in another it’s simply tossed into the garden (Luke). All three enable Jesus to tell us—millennia later—about a small mustard seed that became a dwelling place for birds.

   Jesus’ parables are condensed, metaphorical stories that enable the heavenly to be viewed through the lens of the earthly, captivating our imagination and schooling our character. The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed that when sown in the earth grows to shelter living creatures. Imagine that! How then shall we live?

   Parables tell the truth in such a slanted way that they provoke, disturb, challenge, illuminate, fortify, and teach. Like a dazzling sun the parable sheds light, offers orientation, and anchors us with gravity. Jesus tells us that the small seed becomes a home. Do you register that dazzling, orienting, anchoring truth?

   Jesus tells truth and also is the Truth which dazzles. Jesus speaks metaphors and is one, too: “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15). In his parables the natural world becomes witness to the spiritual world. What is the mustard seed’s testimony?

   Mustard is hardy, ancient, and no respecter of borders. It germinates with abandon, without cultivation, wherever it’s sown. People throughout time and around the world have benefited from it as food, spice, and medicine. This humble, reliable herb is neither delicate nor gorgeous, sprouting with little more care than that provided by sunshine and rain. Mustard sprouts and spreads exuberantly!

   In the third millennium after Jesus told this story, situated in the Global North which so wholly embraced Christianity for centuries, many people are wondering about the Kingdom’s mustard in our neighborhood today. Note that Jesus identifies a process: sowing, growing, and sheltering. He doesn’t describe pearly gates or a pristine garden. His story is about a seed bursting forth from its shell, spilling life force into the earth, and bursting upwards in wood, leaf and flower. He points to the energy of grace, not fixities of doctrine and structure.

   Grace flows from the one who takes the seed of life in hand and scatters it on the earth; through the development and flourishing of the plant; to the harboring of the nesting birds (who themselves participate in the flow of generative life). Do we trust that this grace is flowing in our time and place? Do we recognize it?

   Mustard plants are sometimes accused of being weeds. The name has been applied to a toxic gas in which the plant plays no part. Maybe Jesus is not only saying that the Kingdom is fertile and generative, but is also telling us that the Kingdom is alive and well, even though overlooked. We’re invited to participate in God’s grace; not manufacture or control it.

  For nearly forty years at New College Berkeley people have sown spiritual mustard seeds, tiny capsules of life-changing grace. We hear from people who were part of NCB in different decades, with different teachers. More than what they learned in books or lectures, they tell us how their souls were nourished. In one person’s words: My walk with God has been deepened and expanded, and I have learned and grown in ways I never expected.

   Mustard seeds are sown. We at New College Berkeley are grateful to be part of God’s grace as it dazzles and spreads, orients and anchors, feeds and prunes. To God be the glory.

Posted on Nov 30, 2016 at 2:22 PM
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