The Slow Way: Contentment and Gratitude
Could it be that this is the way of Jesus: gratitude, contentment, grief, and action? Then doing it all over again, until all things are made new.
I was in San Francisco with my family the day of the shooting in Uvalde. It had been a beautiful visit with friends, and my heart was filled up seeing my older boys reconnect with their besties from kindergarten, and Ace being loved and cared for by his two-days-apart-friend Jonah (who receives Ace in a way that makes my heart sing). We were sleeping in the spare room of my dear friend Liz and her husband Ryan, whose wedding I had the honor of performing a couple of years ago. Ace and I had walked 60 blocks from Liz’s house to our friends in the Outer Richmond, and I’d soaked in every step along some of my favorite streets and parks.
And then, news that little ones in Texas had been shot and killed in their classroom? What do you do with information like that when it comes to you? We all understand the disbelief and disconnection that comes first. The feeling of horror and helplessness and separation from the event. How do we hold grief for situations and people we don’t know? There are as many ways to deal with trauma as there are types of personalities. This is a discussion we’re having more and more these days, as we are more and more capable of knowing the details — and often able to see images — of every terrible tragedy that occurs in this world. How do we hold it all? How do we grieve in a way that leads us to action? How do we also enjoy and celebrate the goodness in our own lives, while knowing that somewhere — everywhere — there are people suffering?
This is a question I ask myself, and that I asked that day when I got the news about the school shooting. What is the appropriate way to respond? Is there a moment when the suffering around us becomes too much? When we can’t hold it all anymore, and we retreat into our small circles of relationships and focus on the world we can see and touch and experience in the places we live?
In her New York Times article, “The Arrow in America’s Heart,” Elizabeth Dias quotes Rabbi Mychal B. Springer, who says that part of valuing human life is found in the willingness to “truly grieve, to truly face the reality of suffering.”
“It’s not that we don’t care,” Springer said, “We’ve reached the limit of how much we can cry and hurt,” she said. “And yet we have to. We have to value each life as a whole world, and be willing to cry for what it means that that whole world has been lost.”
I didn’t know how to hold the suffering of Uvalde that day because I wanted to be present with the people I see so rarely. And there’s nothing wrong with that. We need to be present to the needs and joys of the relationships around us. But when I woke the next morning, I was so grateful to find that David Gungor, one of the pastors at my church, had posted an IG Live the night before, in which he sang songs of lament for whoever needed to hear them. Watching that video from the squeaky air mattress bed where I’d been sleeping with my babies on the floor around me, was the kind of invitation I needed to feel the reality of the loss, that children, God’s beloveds, had been massacred in the place where they should be nourished and protected. That time of listening to songs of lament moved me to send an email to my congressional leaders, calling for the passing of gun control bills in the house and senate.
This week I’ve been listening to Brené Brown’s Atlas of the Heart (she’s SUCH a speaker and I highly recommend this audiobook), and I’ve been drawn to her definition of contentment and its relationship to gratitude. As I’ve thought about contentment and gratitude in the midst of so much suffering and loss around us, I’ve been challenged to consider what it is to practice holding grief for the world and contentment in the same hand. Brené says we do that through the practice of gratitude.
She quotes Robert Emmons, a psychologist and the world’s leading expert on gratitude, when he explains that research shows that the positive emotions are the ones that wear off quickest. We all know that feeling when the thing we’ve dreamed of, worked for, or longed for becomes reality and, over time, slowly fades into normal life. We forget how good we have it. Emmons says, “Our emotional systems like newness, they like novelty, they like change. We adapt to positive life changes so that before too long the new car, the new spouse, the new house, they just don’t feel so new and exciting anymore. But gratitude makes us appreciate the value of something. And when we appreciate the value of something, we extract more benefits from it. We’re less likely to take it for granted. In effect, I think gratitude allows us to participate more in life. We notice the positives more and that magnifies the pleasures you get from life . . .With gratitude we become greater participants in our lives as opposed to spectators.”
Brené uses that idea to explain that contentment is actually a practice. We can’t be content unless our emotional systems recognize that we have something good in our lives, and the way we learn to recognize that, instead of moving on to the next thing we need more of, is to “appreciate the value” of what we have. And in doing so, to magnify the pleasures in our lives.
So what does this have to do with the shooting in Uvalde? Or the shooting in Tulsa this past week, or the one in Buffalo three weeks ago, or the millions of lives lost in the Pandemic? I believe that as we learn to value the goodness in our lives, we find the emotional strength to hold the pain of the world, to grieve collectively, and to recognize that no suffering outside of us or inside of us can be fixed to the accumulation of more.
I went from San Francisco to LA, from Liz’s house to my sister in law Charlotte’s, from the familiar streets of SF to the wackadoodle silliness of Universal Studios. And the practice of living wholeheartedly, I’m learning, means finding ways to hold the broken collective heart of this country, while choosing to appreciate the value of my time with my little crew of people.
When we learn to live as people who value human life and allow ourselves to suffer when lives are lost, we also learn to value human life by honoring the gifts in front of us: Ace riding his first roller coaster, August stepping right back into the friendships he made in kindergarten, the sweetness of walking with Brooksie past the streets where I pushed him in a stroller during his baby years. That’s gratitude. And true gratitude should lead to contentment, allowing us to live outside of the scarcity of needing more and more in order to find happiness.
But it should also lead to grief, because we honor human life and we believe everyone deserves that kind of contentment. Maybe wholehearted grief leads to action too. Calling our leaders, demanding change. Could it be that this is the way of Jesus: gratitude, contentment, grief, and action? Then doing it all over again, until all things are made new.
A Slow Practice
So, contentment is actually a practice. How do we practice?
I wonder if we can start by noticing our natural instinct to accumulate more, whether that more refers to possessions, fun, or distraction. There is a natural temptation to deal with the pain of the world by finding something fun to do, having a drink to take the edge off, relying on relationships to distract us. But, in order to be people who have the courage to work toward peace and justice, we are invited to focus our fear and grief into the present moment, to find enough gratitude to see the value of our lives, without the instant distraction of a screen, or the easy numbing of a drink, or the cortisone-inducing diversion of buying something new. Gratitude keeps us in the present moment, and gives us the presence of mind to be content in our own lives, so we can serve the common good.
Today I want us to practice gratitude. There’s a tiny verse in Paul’s letter to the Colossians, chapter 4, when he instructs his readers: “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.” I feel like we could make this the heart of our spiritual practice all day every day. To be watchful in the moment, awake to the mystery of goodness of the Divine in our lives, which leads us to gratitude, even when the world is terrifying.
So how do we practice? As you move through your day today, I invite you to stop for what Macrina Wiederkehr calls “seven sacred pauses.” (Set your alarm on your phone for early morning, mid morning, lunch, mid afternoon, late afternoon, evening, and night.) You don’t have to do anything fancy. But when your little reminder goes off, stop for a moment and pray a breath-prayer of gratitude.
Here’s what I’ll be praying:
Breathe in: Holy One, this moment is a gift.
Breathe out: Thank you for ______. *List whatever good thing is in front of you in the moment.*
That’s it. Remember, it’s the small habits that are often the most transformational.
A List of Things
Okay, I adore Caitlin Flanigan’s articles (most of the time) and this was her shining. On the Coastal Grandmother trend. It’s hysterical.
I didn’t listen to any podcasts this week because I focused on Brené.
During our book club this past week I was reminded of how wonderful Macrina Wiederkehr’s book Seven Sacred Pauses is, which lead me to form our slow practice this week around it (thanks Jody!). It was so formative when I was writing Found. I highly recommend.
You guys. It took me six months because I fall asleep after two pages a night, but I finally finished the latest Outlander book, Go Tell the Bees that I am Gone. At this point, Jamie and Claire are my life’s dearest and ridiculously talented friend-characters who just keep getting smarter and wiser, while remaining gorgeous, despite the fact that they must be 70 by now but who knows? And I’ll read whatever I’m given to read with them. Will my heart be twisted? Yes. Will they change history? Yes. Will most of the people we love survive? Of course, because Claire can find a dry leaf in the woods, crush it up, sprinkle it on a wound and BAM, the character we love will still be living. Seriously, Claire you are a genius.
What about you? What have you been listening to, watching, reading this week?
I have been reading your lovely words the past few months and I want to say how grateful I am for them. There is a tenderness and depth in them that is like a cup of water to my weary soul. Thank you that somehow, within your own grief and suffering, you are managing to extend a little light out into the world. I wrestle with being content but hope to put an intentional practice around it guided by your reflection
Thank you for these words Micha. This is something I frequently struggle with - being happy and content in my life when I see so much pain and suffering everywhere.