The spirituality of summer
Summers invite me to inhabit a different type of spirituality
in four important ways.
First, summers invite a fuller engagement with nature. I live
in a major city by choice, enjoying its urban vibe and pedestrian lifestyle. Spending
time in nature, however, has remained an integral aspect of my life and spirituality
since my childhood in Maine. I appreciate natural theology, resonating deeply nature's
capacity to reveal much about God. My education and reading have identified some
of natural theology's limits, but I still find nature an important spiritual and
theological resource.
With age, Maine's rugged beauty, cold weather, and snow are
less inviting. Consequently, one of the aspects of living in Hawaii that I most
enjoy is the year-round summer-like weather. Warm sunshine watered by an occasional
light mist encourages me to spend lots of time outdoors and to leave windows
open. My apartment has expansive views of the Pacific Ocean, palm lined sandy
beaches, volcanic mountains, and, frequently, rainbows. From January to April, I
sometimes spot whales breaching from my apartment windows. The views from my
apartment evoke Biblical images, e.g., rainbows are vivid reminders of one of God's
promises and the Psalmist several times references the mighty creatures of the deeps.
Second, summers invite engagement with social justice
issues. Summers in Hawaii have gradually become warmer. People now complain
about the summer heat. I have lived in Hawaii twice previously, first in the
early 1980s and then in the early 1990s, each time for two and a half years. During
those five years, there were only several nights a year when I wished that my dwelling
had air conditioning. Now I am grateful for my apartment's air conditioning. Similarly,
rising tides and more extreme storms have unjustly diminished the habitability
and land mass of numerous Pacific islands. The growing numbers of Oceania emigrants
now living in Hawaii visibly declare our need to be better ecological stewards.
Summers also offer fragile signs of social justice progress
that encourage further engagement. For example, vacations, which started to
appear in the nineteenth century as a byproduct of the affluence that the
Industrial Revolution created, are no longer the exclusive privilege of the
rich and powerful. Hawaii's robust tourist industry fared reasonably well
during the nation's great recession and its sluggish economic recovery. Nevertheless,
the low wages earned by many tourist industry workers are painful reminders of growing
economic inequality, a shrinking middle class, and the need to establish fuller
economic justice.
Third, summers invite me to change my spiritual praxis. A
staff member at my parish's day school has been teaching Sunday school in the
parish this month. She told me that being on campus six days a week is one day
too many for her. She has discovered that she, and consequently the school's
students, benefit when she is not on the campus weekends. Her observation prompted
me to wonder which of my spiritual practices, adopted in the hope that they
would open windows through which God's light would shine into my life, have unintentionally,
and maybe without my realizing it, become burdensome, closing the windows I intended
them to open.
God may not take a vacation, but God's people should. What worship
schedule services best suits your spiritual life today? What would it feel like
to skip worship for a week or two? Would visiting a different parish (or even
congregation of a different denomination) result in a fresh appreciation of
one's own parish? Would meditatively reading a book – perhaps a novel, poetry, biography,
or even a book on theology, ethics, biblical studies, or spirituality – provide
a helpful catalyst for re-energizing or re-conceptualizing your understanding
of twenty-first century Christianity? Sadly, many Christians regard church participation
and spiritual commitments as compulsory duties rather than as opportunities to
savor God's gifts of freedom and grace. Summer tacitly permits, perhaps even encourages,
a much-needed Sabbath in which the over-obligated can helpfully reframe their spiritual
practices and commitments.
Fourth and finally, summers invite me to hold my beliefs
lightly. Holding tightly to theological propositions has never made sense to
me. Sin is pervasive. I have no rational basis for supposing that my theology,
regardless of the care, study, and prayer that I invest in its formulation, is
perfect. Surely, my theology, like that of all Christians and the Church as a
whole, inevitably represents an admixture of truth and error that can benefit
from ongoing refinement. Additionally, words are finite and God is infinite.
That difference inherently limits the capacity of words to speak of God accurately.
Lightly held beliefs implicitly acknowledge these issues, creating the
possibility of theological growth while concurrently fostering interfaith and ecumenical
dialogue. Leisurely summer conversations can afford uncensored opportunities to
formulate, try on for comfort, and examine tentative new theological ideas from
various angles.
Summer is a common metaphor for the span of life that
stretches from the end of adolescence (spring connotes the period from birth to
end of adolescence) to the beginning of one's decline (the autumn of life that precedes
winter, the season of death). As I enter the autumn of my life, I am thankful for
having enjoyed a long summer, thankful that my summer was an enjoyable season
of growth and not of stagnation. I pray that you will enjoy your summer!
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