Today, in our meditation/prayer class, we talked about poverty and the idea that it is only sometimes about money and things. The residents very much wanted to talk about this since many of them are all too familiar with poverty.
As someone who struggles to figure out his place in the spiritual world, and figure out what the idea of a God means to me, I never imagined being asked to do pastoral work. And the odd thing is that I love it.
Since the regular pastor had to leave the Mansion during the pandemic, I’ve taken over her duties. My meditation class is also a brief prayer class and spiritual discussion.
We are not focused on one religion, but almost all of the class members are Christian, so I’ve read from Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen before we meditate.
I do often read from Christ’s sermon on the mount the best definition of true Christianity I have yet read.
The class ranges in size from 6 or eight to 12 or 15. It rarely gets larger than that, and this is a good thing because our round table in the activities room usually fits about 10. If it gets bigger, we have to bring in more chairs.
The class has jelled; there is an extraordinary commitment and comfort level. The three people from the Memory Care unit are the first ones in the room; they always ask the aides when I’m coming – they can’t quite get my name – and come to every meeting. They listen carefully.
I know they are hearing something.
Merton’s argument in this essay was that the poorest man in a religious community is not necessarily the one who has the fewest things or objects.
Poverty, he said, is “an attitude which leads us to renounce some of the advantages which come from the use of things. A man can possess nothing but attach great importance to the personal satisfaction and enjoyment he wants to get out of things common to all” – music, conversations, books, free time, friendship.
Poverty, he wrote, ought not to make us feel inferior or peculiar. The eccentric man or woman is not poor in spirit.
What the residents took from the reading was the idea that they had few possessions didn’t make them poor. What made them poor was losing hope, friendship, and the ability to laugh or find joy in the world.
I love the way the memory care visitors react to the conversation. They don’t remember the details, but something always sticks.
“My sister has a lot of money,” said G, “but she is sour and bitter about her life and the world and can no longer laugh or sing. She has no friends. She is poor.”
Then I talked about breathing and meditation and why it was so important.
When you slow down your breath, inhale deeply, and exhale slowly, I said, you are also slowing down your heart and lowering your blood pressure.
Meditation practiced regularly and in silence is healthy, I said. It helps with stress and fear and confusion.
Silence is the only real chance in our distracted world to look inward and see the truth about ourselves. Four different residents in the meeting said they meditated for five or six minutes when their alarm went off and they woke up.
Years ago, before TV, electricity, and the Internet, people, had silence in their lives. They were often alone and in solitude; they could think about their lives and what they wanted to do and be.
Our culture leaves no time for silence, so we have to find it ourselves and make room for it in our lives.
I am starting to bring some photos of my flowers on my Iphone. The residents love to see them before they meditate. We are planning a meditation session at the farm, alongside the donkeys and Zinnia, all great meditators.
The Meditation Class is meeting this morning at ll a.m. Our regular day is Wednesday, but the holiday threw all the schedules off. Our first Men’s Club Meeting, scheduled for tonight, has been moved to Thursday.
Zinnia is a great addition; she goes under the big table and licks everybody’s hands. The moment I start talking, she goes to sleep. She is a born meditator.
