The Who Behind the Eyes
Keeping the spirit in sight
Glimpsing the soul
For Christmas, one of our sons gave my husband and me a handy little book titled, A Swedenborg Perpetual Calendar. It is “a daily book of insights consisting of thought-provoking quotes by Emanuel Swedenborg” and it lives up to its billing. Each day it gives me a little insight to pause over.
For example, this compelling entry from Secrets of Heaven §69 for February 1st:
We are one with spirits and angels. In fact, we ourselves are spirits clothed in flesh.
On the one hand, Duh, right? Not news to most religiously-minded people, or most people aware of religiously-minded thought. Every person is a soul clothed with a material body.
Yet when I read those two sentences, it vividly struck me that this body I’m currently attached to, which feels so solid and alive, so significant and ME as I move around in this world, is actually a kind of costume. It’s a temporary appearance, not a lasting reality. The true me lives inside it . . . as the true you lives inside yours . . . and who knows what we really look like in there?
Well, God does.
And actually, we each can glean an inkling of how we appear to Him if we notice where our heart is centered — if we pay attention to our experience of pleasure. Do we find it in things that are useful to others, that provide genuine help and value to them? Or in things that are self-glorifying and smug, that position us looking down on them? Probably a mix — we are each a work in progress. But taking note of our inner delights and where we find them is a good tool for spiritual navigation.
When I say it vividly struck me, though, I mean that it’s shifted how I think about people. It’s caused me to contemplate the fact that any given person I’m interacting with is actually the soul inhabiting and animating that human form I’m looking at and talking to. So the body that seems to be so them is really a kind of facade; the spirit inside is the living being I’m engaging with.
Does that sound morbid? Or creepy? Or mundane? Hopefully not, because that’s not at all how I experience it.
In thinking this way, I’ve discovered a comforting feeling of solidarity with humanity, a sense of recognition that we’re all here journeying through this world as spirits attached to flesh — to a material clothing we call bodies — trying our best (many of us, at least) to understand the what, why, and how: What is my purpose? Why am I here? How do I find meaning in this unpredictable sojourn? I’m finding it a strangely calming way to think in this increasingly chaotic and neurotic world. For some reason, it disposes me to feel tenderness towards the strife and failures we’re all begetting and enduring.
We’re all on this messy, tumultuous walk together.
Glimpsing the self
On a somewhat related note, I followed Lent again. On my own this time, because — as I mentioned in a previous essay — my church does not normally practice it, other than last year as a suggested spiritual growth exercise. This year I went so far as to subscribe to Hallow, a very well done Catholic app that provides all kinds of prayer, praise, and devotional learning opportunities. I joined their Pray 40 Challenge to give some structure to my Lenten experience, and I found it so useful that I also began following their daily Lectio Divina of the Gospels, a very brief recorded reading (by Jonathan Roumie, of The Chosen fame) from one of the four books, to be listened to and meditated upon prayerfully as God speaking to us.
It’s powerful what you hear when you stop to listen.
For example, a recent reading was from John 6:30-35, where the people tell Jesus to show them a sign so they can believe Him — “perform a miracle like the manna God gave our ancestors to sustain them in the wilderness” — and He cryptically replies “I am the bread of life.”
In our modern lingo, we’d say that gathering of skeptics was demanding receipts. They wanted the evidence of their eyes, their senses, incontrovertible proof of the Divine identity Jesus so unapologetically professed if they were going to concede His claim. Which is almost comical when you think about it:
CROWD OF HUMANS TO GOD INCARNATE: Perform for us, and we’ll consider it.
But checking my impulse to smirk at their temerity/cluelessness/arrogance, I am led to wonder (because such hubris is so VERY human) how I might be taking essentially the same posture in my own life. Where am I still blind to Him, rather than believing? Where am I seeking guarantees for my will, rather than leaping with my faith into His? I’ll confess: trusting the Lord has never been my strong suit, especially since becoming a parent. In fact, if I’m being honest, I’ve been vying with Him for that role since the moment I first gave birth. But that’s a story for another day.
My point in sharing this is that once again (surprise not surprised) the practice of Lent has fed my heart and mind. . . and this time my body. . . in wholly unexpected ways. It started with choosing to fast from wine, to test how dependent I’d become on my (yes) nightly indulgence. (Turns out, not very. It was notably not difficult to kick the habit. Thankfully.) It ended with me having been confronted by — or rather, having to confront — my true dependency. . . dare I say addiction.
Sugar. Dammit!
So that sweet phase of my life is over, for better (stabilized energy and raised consciousness) and for worse (my yearning taste buds and thwarted comfort reflex). I’ll admit though, with my emotional crutch/psychological cocoon gone, I am not through the floundering phase. I’m finding that the challenge of facing my daily emotional and spiritual discomforts is just as easily derailed by other habitual distractions, like social media or the news cycle; my avoidance reflex is, predictably, highly adaptable.
But however imperfect the results so far, my observance of Lent—those weeks of fasting and the deeper reflection, self-inventory, and habit changes they’ve inspired—has nourished me with humbling perspective on how half-heartedly I’d been living my faith in some everyday arenas of my life. Who knew something as banal as a sweet tooth could have sobering implications for spiritual health?
As I said at the outset, I’m rather attached to this suit of flesh I’ve been given to move about in this world, instinctively protective of its comfort and partial to its pleasures. It’s so easy. . . literally natural. . . to settle into the perception that it is ME, and to defend and pursue its gratifications as fulfilling ends in themselves. Yet it turns out, counter-intuitively, that choosing to deprive my body of compulsive indulgence opens space for an inward examination, an uplifted awareness that fills me with true food — soul food. I feel graced with a clearer recognition of the Life I am receiving, and the potential for its deepening joy and peace that will not end with this borrowed body.
Postscript:
The above has been in my drafts folder, mostly finished and only sporadically visited, since shortly after Easter due to ongoing attacks of self-doubt regarding its value to anyone. Now that it’s published it may or may not speak to you, which is fine — our needs and interests are unique to our personal journeys. But what got me to finally send it is, to me, illustrative of how the Lord works with and through us. So I want to share.
You see, each time my doubting self-talk has devolved into me contemplating just quitting blogging altogether, the Lord has sent me a message: Stop doubting. Keep writing. It helps others. And He’s done this, as is His wont, through other people.
His first couple knocks on the door occurred a few weeks ago when I bumped — separately — into two subscribers I know personally, who both live in my community. Upon seeing me, each initiated our conversation with some iteration of “I’ve been reading your blog. I value your writing.” Both these interactions happened within a couple hours of each other, and with each I understood immediately what I was hearing, and from Whom.
Yet, I dithered.
Then a week or so later I received a personal message through my Substack account, from a stranger who wanted me to know that reading my blog had helped him reconnect with the faith he’d lost (!!), which led to a lovely exchange through which I gained a new internet acquaintance. Once again, I heard.
And dithered.
Then this morning I awoke to see a comment on one of my essays, from somone telling me how happy they were to have found my blog, that my essay was just what they needed today. Having been deep in the headspace of doubts again this week, as I pushed myself to Just. Hit. SEND, that knock on the door finally got me answering. One might wonder how I can hear and acknowledge His voice in messenger after messenger, and yet refuse to respond to Him again and again. I wonder myself. I guess fear is that much stronger a prompt than courage, stepping back that much easier than stepping forward. When we aren’t willing to trust.
So here I am.
Willing. Opening the door.
"taking note of our inner delights and where we find them is a good tool for spiritual navigation."
Oooh I like this. Lately I've observed myself in moments of delight and marveled at the difference between the dark me and the light me. Putting it in terms of how God sees us -- in those delighted moments -- is pretty freaking striking and not something I'll soon forget. There's a childlike quality in our lightness and we're all God's children so it makes sense. It's too bad we can't bottle the lightness and drink up when the darkness hits but like you say, we're all works in progress, so simply taking a moment to appreciate and savor those light times without pulling ourselves out or fretting at its fleetingness is another skill to hone. Lots to ponder!
PS keep writing. ✍️
Hi Leah....my apologies for being so tardy in replying to your blog....I so appreciate your perspectives and your deep spirituality. It's an inspiration for me as I grapple too often with the world as it is - and the world that the Lord provides us spiritually. I recently attended my grandson's First Communion...the innocence and seriousness with which he received the sacrament almost brought me to tears. Ah to be like the little children that Jesus talks about....it's a reminder to me to see the world through their innocent and precious eyes. Keep up the writing...it's good - and helpful. Ellen