Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.
Jeremiah 17:7-8
However one feels about the changes in the federal government, the impact on many in our congregations and the communities we serve has been dramatic. Lives and livelihoods are being upended. I give thanks for the pastoral care our clergy and lay leaders are providing in this time, and I commit diocesan resources to support you in any way we can.
I’ve been going back to everything I have learned about resilience—the mysterious spiritual and physical capacity that enables human beings, and all life, to adapt and grow stronger through adversity.
Resilience, as one of my teachers described it, is nature’s imaginative response to challenge. It is what enables an organism—be it a cell, a tree, or a human being—to rebound and to evolve in the face of external forces that would otherwise threaten its integrity. Like healing, resilience is a natural capacity in the service of life. It is the aspect of ourselves that has to do with repertoire—the breadth of responses we bring to changing circumstances that enables us to adapt.1
If you were in an Episcopal church last Sunday, you heard two biblical passages that liken those who trust in God to trees planted by streams of water—a powerful image of resilience. Like those trees, we have deep wells of strength from which to draw in hard times and with which we can support one another.
What are the wells that sustain you?
I, for one, draw inspiration from the examples of other people rising to the challenges of life.
This week I came across a book that I bought for the title alone: The Impossible Will Take a Little While: Perseverance and Hope in Troubled Times. It’s a collection of writings from the leaders and unsung heroes of the great social movements of the last century, alongside poetry, Scripture, and inspirational essays. The writings are organized by theme: “Seeds of the Possible,” “Dark Before Dawn,” “Everyday Grace,” “Rebellious Imagination,” “Courage is Contagious,” “Radical Dignity,” and more. It will be one of the books I read as a devotional this Lent.
Yet we needn’t go further than our own families and faith communities to find the wells that sustain us. I once read of a high school teacher working in an impoverished community who gave her students the assignment to identify and interview the most successful person in their family. They first spent time in class defining success, and as you can imagine, their definitions varied. Then the students went out and talked to a member of their family, and they returned with amazing stories to tell. As a result, every one of the students performed better in class, having tapped into the streams of living water in their lives.
We also have wells to draw from in our own stories, perhaps more than we realize.
Years ago I attended a healing conference in which the leaders gave every participant a cross section of a tree trunk that revealed the inner concentric circles that tell the story of a tree’s life. Each ring represents one year. They also reflect the impact of weather—years of drought or rain—and other external events on a tree’s life. A knot in a tree ring, for example, suggests some trauma or shock to the tree’s system that left its mark. Taken as a whole, the rings reveal the capacity of a given tree to integrate such experiences, adjust, and go on.
In small group discussions, we were invited to reflect on our lives using the image of tree rings. When were the times of abundance and times of drought? What were the events that marked us in some ways, like the knots of a tree? Our teachers asked us how we incorporated those events into our self understanding. What meaning did we find in them? Did they leave a permanent scar? What did we learn from our past struggles that we can draw from now?
The conversations weren’t intended to minimize trauma or to suggest that we are always able to overcome adversity and move on. But they were a powerful reminder of the importance of our response to life’s challenges, and that God has endowed us with resources for such times. Our own tree rings are evidence of that. An intentional posture of openness to God’s sustaining grace, through prayer, the love and support of others, and self care strengthens the innate capacity of resilience and healing that resides within.
We have far more experience of grace and resilience than we realize. Now is a good time to gather in our families, circle of friends, or in church, and talk of our life experiences and the people who inspire you. Each time we do, we tap into the deep streams of water God has given us, enabling us not only to persevere, but to bear fruit in these times.
Last Saturday at my mother’s memorial service, we sang Amazing Grace. One verse has stayed with me and I offer it to you as a reminder of our resilience and God’s grace.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come.
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
Please know that I am praying for you and am here for you. In all that we are facing now, and all that lies ahead, Christ is before us. We are never alone.
1These ideas come from Myrna Carpenter, PhD, faculty member of The Center for Family Process
