3 Leadership Lessons of St. Clare

Photo Credit: Margaret Benefiel

St. Clare of Assisi (1194-1253), best known as St. Francis’ “little plant,” eventually emerged as a strong leader in her own right in thirteenth-century Italy and beyond. While St. Francis took center stage with his extraverted charismatic leadership, St. Clare quietly built stronger structures behind the scenes.

As I muse on St. Clare and her contributions, three leadership lessons stand out for me. Clare teaches me about prayer, community-building, and persistence.

First, Clare knew the power of prayer. She knew that prayer provided the foundation for all of her leadership. Without prayer, without her radical trust in God, she could do nothing. She prayed for strength and guidance when she was called to lead her community of “Poor Ladies” as a young adult. Later, when an invading army swarmed her vulnerable convent of San Damiano, outside the protection of the city walls, she prayed. Upon praying, she felt led to stand at the window in front of the army, armed only with the host, the body of Christ, and her trust in God. Faced with Clare’s shining strength, the army became confused and fled. Thus, through prayer, Clare saved not only her convent but also the city of Assisi. Finally, Clare’s prayer undergirded her day-to-day leadership in the convent. When faced with lack of food, with illness, with cold, she prayed. People brought turnips, medicine, and blankets, and year after year, all the Sisters’ needs were supplied.

Second, Clare knew how to build community. Though she lived in an enclosed community at San Damiano her entire life as a Sister, she built community both at home and afar. She showed her 50 fellow Sisters how to live together in compassionate service in cramped quarters and difficult conditions. Beyond San Damiano, she instructed Agnes of Prague, a princess who left behind wealth and status to found a religious community like Clare’s, in building a convent. While Francis’ communities faced divisive conflicts, Clare taught her communities to work through conflicts in ways that built stronger relationships. And she also built relationships near and far, with St. Francis and his brothers, with priests, with bishops, and with Popes.

Third, Clare lived perseverance. Her entire life, she fought for a way of life like Francis’ in which she could be true to the gospel as she understood it. For her, this meant living in poverty, in total reliance upon God. She appealed to every Pope in her lifetime to approve the rule she had written to regulate life in her community. When Pope after Pope said no, she didn’t give up. Finally, on her deathbed, the Pope sent word that he had heard she was dying and he wondered if there was anything he could do for her. When she said, “Approve my rule,” he relented, and she received papal approval two days before she died.

Leading with soul is never easy, whether one lives in thirteenth-century Europe or modern times. The way is often fraught with stresses, discouragements, and obstacles that challenge our commitment to walk our path with faith. However, we can turn to those who have come before us, those like St. Clare who embody the qualities of a good leader. They show us not only that it is possible to lead with soul but also that we are not alone in the journey.

(This article first appeared in April 2016.)

Good Friday, Scapegoating, and American Politics

Photo credit: Nesster, via flickr

Jesus, a victim of scapegoating, understood all too well its origin and its outcome.  From the “Hosannas” of Palm Sunday to the “Crucify him!” of a few days later, Jesus witnessed the fears of the human heart and how easily those fears turn to blame.  Good Friday marks the ultimate scapegoating, the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth.

What is happening in the heart of the person who turns to scapegoating? It’s easy for us humans to believe that by hating a person we despise, we separate ourselves from evil and differentiate ourselves as good. Yet the opposite is actually true. When we give in to hate, we begin to become like what we are hating. When hatred and violence grow in our hearts, we move closer along the spectrum toward the object of our hate.  Jesus knew this on Good Friday, and he also knew how unconsciously this was occurring when he prayed from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

The battle between good and evil plays out not between individuals but within individuals. The battle between good and evil is fought within every human heart. Yet we naturally shun the fear and hatred within us, and so we seek shortcuts instead of doing the hard inner work we need to do.  When a leader arises who blames a person or group for our woes, whether in a family, an organization, or a nation, the appeal of that leader proves strong.  At this moment in American politics, Donald Trump’s scapegoating of various groups, including immigrants and Muslims, is proving irresistible to many.  Why do the hard inner work, personally and as a nation, when it is so easy to blame others?

The trouble with scapegoating is threefold.  First, of course, it damages the individuals and groups who are its targets.  Second, it damages the ones who hate those individuals and groups by filling their hearts with fear and hatred.  Third, it doesn’t solve anything.  When, in the history of the world, has scapegoating resulted in a good outcome for those who scapegoat?  Never.  There is some relief for awhile, but the problems don’t go away because they haven’t been addressed at the root. So the cycle repeats itself: a new scapegoat gets identified, that person or group is crucified or chased out of town, some relief is felt for awhile, the problems resurface, and so on.

Jesus said, “Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.”  Who are the least of these today?  In America today, they are those we scapegoat.  Will we keep crucifying Jesus?  Will we keep participating in scapegoating or not standing up for those scapegoated? Who are you, this Good Friday?  Are you in the crowd, shouting “Crucify him!”  Are you Peter, not standing up for Jesus?  Or can you find it in your heart to stand with Jesus to the end, as the women at the foot of the cross did, and stand up for those scapegoated in our time and place?

(This article is a revision of an article that first appeared in 2016.)

Only a Feather

“A feather on the breath of God,” Hildegard of Bingen’s image of her life, guides me in my leadership at the Shalem Institute.  I return to it again and again as I seek to balance being and doing in the midst of my responsibilities as an executive director.

This symbol speaks to me deeply, both personally and for Shalem.  I long to live as a feather on God’s breath, living in radical trust.  I long for the Shalem community as a whole to live as a feather on the breath of God.

Yet living in radical trust is not my natural inclination. Some days I do indeed feel like a feather on the breath of God, as the spiritually grounded, contemplative atmosphere at the Shalem office helps me trust and float on the current of the Spirit’s wind.  My joy is deep.

At the same time that I feel deep joy when I experience living as a feather on God’s breath, another part of me resists:
“Only a feather?” she says.  “What about your accomplishments?”
“Only a feather,” comes the response.
“What about your degrees?”
“Only a feather.”
“What about your training?”
“Only a feather.”

The part of me that resists also wants to control.  She wants to rely on my credentials.  She wants to believe that if I utilize my training I can figure everything out. She wants me to see spreadsheets as Shalem’s salvation. She wants me to turn to management manuals to motivate.

To be sure, I must use my skills and training.  I must draw on the knowledge and experience that I have.  I must think about Shalem’s future, and together with the board and staff, make plans. I must read spreadsheets and mind the money.

Yet those skills are mine only to serve the greater good.  They do not exist for me to exercise control.  They do not exist for me to impress the board, staff, Shalem graduates, or program participants.  They exist to free Shalem to listen as openly as possible to God’s spirit.  For myself, this means that I must give up control, or rather give up the illusion of control, so that Shalem and I can float as feathers on God’s breath.

Shalem as an organization, like me as an individual, is only a feather on God’s breath.  Somehow it’s easy for us to think of an organization as being more solid than an individual.  Once we have bylaws and a budget and a board, we’re established.  We’re solid.  Nothing can move us, right?  Wrong.  Organizations are just as vulnerable as individuals.  Organizations have a choice: they can live with the illusion of control, or they can exercise radical trust. What does it look like for an organization, for an entire community, to exercise radical trust? What does it look like for Shalem to live as a feather on the breath of God?

It looks like openness to God, listening for the movement of the Spirit in our midst.  Radical trust for Shalem as a whole also means holding programs lightly.  It means experimenting with new programs.  It means assessing and improving existing programs.

Radical trust for Shalem as a whole also means trusting God with money.  How many times have you been in a committee meeting or board meeting that has been open and trusting until the topic of money comes up?  There’s nothing like talking about money to throw a meeting back into ego, away from radical trust. Trusting God with money means listening for the Spirit’s guidance about how to focus Shalem’s fundraising efforts, doing our part to reach out and ask, adjusting course when needed, and continuing to listen.

Whether with programs, staff priorities, fundraising, or planning, seeking to live as a feather on the breath of God provides an opportunity for ongoing spiritual practice, both for me and for Shalem.

I am only a feather.  Shalem is only a feather. But we are feathers that have the capacity to float on the breath of God, which is ultimately where our strength lies.

(This is a slightly revised version of the February 2016 Executive Soul blog.)

Broken New Year’s Resolutions?

Have you broken your New Year’s resolutions yet? If so, you’re not alone. A study at the University of Scranton reported that 36% of participants had broken their New Year’s resolutions by the end of January. By the end of six months, over half had broken their resolutions.

What if we thought of our broken New Year’s resolutions not as evidence of weak willpower, but as a sign of other important commitments that need just as much attention as our resolutions need?  A book that can help do just that is Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey’s Immunity to Change: How to Overcome it and Unlock the Potential in Yourself and Your Organization.

Using your broken New Year’s resolutions to identify your competing commitments can help you get to the bottom of what isn’t working for you in your life.  More importantly, identifying competing commitments can help you achieve your goals much more effectively than New Year’s resolutions can.

Here’s how it works, according to Kegan/Lahey:  When you find yourself breaking a resolution, ask yourself, “In addition to this resolution, what else am I committed to?”  (In my own case, my resolution to not overextend myself competes with my commitment to not miss out on something good.)  Once the competing commitment is identified, you can begin to seek a win/win.  Rather than having your competing commitments sabotage your resolution, you can dig deeper, identify your underlying assumptions, and take small steps to test whether those underlying assumptions are valid.

In the workplace, resolutions to change are particularly vulnerable, since many people are colluding in the status quo, and since old patterns die hard in the fast-paced, no-time-for-reflection work environment.  Like individual New Year’s resolutions, organizational change efforts tend to focus on desired change without digging deeper to examine competing commitments. We’re all familiar with the term “resistance,” used to describe the forces that keep us from changing, both individually and organizationally. It’s easy to view resistance negatively, viewing it as the effort to cling to the old when it’s time to usher in the new. If instead of thinking in terms of organizational resistance to change, we can think in terms of competing commitments, we can mine rich veins of learning.

For example, Jean Quinn, the co-executive director of Sophia Housing in Dublin, Ireland, realized that a “command and control” leadership style inconsistent with the organization’s values had established itself in the organization.  Because leaders had learned that style elsewhere and imported it, Quinn knew that their immunity to change would not be easy to overcome.  She decided to call in an organizational consultant who would work closely with supervisors in the organization over an extended period of time to surface underlying assumptions and help people reflect on them. The organizational consultant, invited to offer leadership training in modules over six months, helped leaders in the organization identify their competing commitments, noting how leadership practices out of alignment with Sophia’s culture had crept in and how everyone had colluded in not challenging them.  The supervisors worked with leaders both during the program and after, continuing with them in ongoing supervision after the six months were over.  Through the integration of the training and supervision, Sophia’s leadership culture shifted, once again becoming more person-centered.  Jean Quinn observed that, through surfacing assumptions and helping people talk about them openly, a culture of openness was created.  The immunity to change had been overcome.

The next time you’re feeling discouraged by a broken New Year’s resolution, look deeper. You’re likely to find a competing commitment that is just as important and honorable as the “failed” commitment. If you can find a way to honor both commitments together, you may find yourself well on the road to success. What you learn from your “failure” can ultimately build a stronger foundation for moving toward your goal.

(Part of this article is taken from “Immunity to Change: Supervision, Organizational Leadership, and Transformation,” in The Soul of Supervision, Margaret Benefiel and Geraldine Holton, editors (Morehouse, 2010).  Used with permission of the publisher.)

Living with Joy: Spiritual Companions Across the Centuries

Photo Credit: Brando via Flickr

When I first encountered St. Francis of Assisi, I was struck by many similarities in our situations despite the 800 years separating us. He lived in a time of war, displacement of peoples, injustice, prejudice, religious strife, and illness, to name a few. Shaken to its core by political and religious conflict, his society had lost its moorings. Once-trusted institutions had fallen from grace.

Yet in the midst of all this, St. Francis lived with joy. In the midst of suffering, he drew from a deep well and invited others to do the same. How did he do this? Not a superficial optimism, St. Francis’s joy expressed a clear-eyed view of reality. Even as he faced the world’s pain, he went deep into God’s heart and felt God’s pain for the brokenness of the world. His heartfelt lament joined God’s lament and led him more deeply into the pain. Through entering the heart of God and sharing God’s pain, fully feeling the cosmic heartbreak, Francis began to get a glimpse of what was his to do. He watched and waited until the vision emerged. As he embraced his call, he moved from pain to joy. And then, to complete the process, God gave him a community in which to live out his call, a community called to live in joy.

The first time I visited the little church of San Damiano outside the city walls of Assisi, my heart stirred as I prayed in the place where Francis had received his call.  I felt drawn into deeper and deeper contemplative prayer as I felt the prayerfulness of the simple, clear, uncluttered space. After Francis rebuilt this church, Clare of Assisi and her community of sisters settled there. They formed a contemplative community, and they and their spiritual descendants bathed the space in prayer for centuries.  The walls were permeated by prayerfulness. The space invited me to pray like I had never prayed before. I felt deeply grounded in God. Francis and Clare became my spiritual companions. They invited me to bring my heartbreak for the world into the heart of God, to listen for what was mine to do, and to emerge to live in joy.

Visiting and praying in physical space that has been hallowed by our great saints and centuries of pilgrims can have that effect on a person. These physical spaces are the “thin places” of our world, where heaven and earth meet, where the divine seems more accessible. Walking in the footsteps of the saints can be a tremendous blessing in our own spiritual journeys. In April 2024, we will take a group of pilgrims to visit the sites where Saints Francis and Clare spent their lives praying and serving. We invite you to give some prayerful consideration to joining us on this amazing journey.

Across the centuries, across traditions, in different lands, God speaks. I was reminded in Assisi that our spiritual companions can come from any time or place.  God’s deep work in the lives of Francis and Clare touched my life and invited me to go deeper. I tasted a depth of prayer I had not tasted before and a pure joy I had never experienced. I have not been the same since.

(This article first appeared on Shalem’s blog on November 29, 2023. Used with permission.)

3 Leadership Lessons St. Francis Taught me from his Failures

Earlier, I wrote about six leadership lessons I learned from St. Francis’s success. Like all of us, Francis scored some wins and some losses when it came to leadership. And like all of us, Francis didn’t always know in advance what approach to leadership would prove effective.

Francis’ failures can prove just as instructive as his successes. As I reflect on Francis’ life, three lessons in leadership effectiveness that I can learn from his failures stand out to me.

1. Clarity of mission. When Francis returned home to Italy from his journey to Egypt in 1220, he found his brothers divided and in conflict. Brother John had decided to organize the lepers the brothers were serving into a religious order and requested approval for the order from the Holy See. Brother Phillip had sought special protections from the Pope for the Poor Clares (defying Francis’ instructions not to seek favors in high places). Brothers Matthew and Gregory had imposed stricter fasting guidelines on the brothers, more appropriate for monks than for active friars. All of these measures had stirred up turmoil in the order and revealed a lack of clarity about the purpose of the life of the brothers. Conflict-averse himself, Francis had avoided clarifying the mission of the order, either personally or in concert with his brothers. Without clarity of mission, brothers had different understandings of what direction their lives and ministries should go. As the order had grown and with Francis away, the situation had spiraled out of control.

Clarity of mission can help a group stay focused through the stresses of growth and the temporary absence of the leader.

2. Preparation for leadership. In 1217, Francis had sent several groups of brothers out in ministry beyond Italy, to Germany, Hungary, England, and the Holy Land. While the impulse was one of generous service, the missions failed.  Lacking preparation, the brothers couldn’t speak the language of the country they visited, didn’t understand the culture, and didn’t know how to translate their mendicant ways into a new setting. Furthermore, many of these brothers had recently joined the order themselves and had no experience of leadership in their home context.

Adequate preparation can help lessen the shock of a new environment. And gradual introduction to leadership responsibilities in one’s own setting can prepare the way for greater responsibility in a new setting.

3. Leadership succession. Francis decided to go off on mission himself when other brothers left on mission in 1217. He only got as far as Florence, where Cardinal Hugolino dissuaded him and he returned to Assisi, convinced by Hugolino of the order’s need for his leadership at home. But the urge to travel in ministry returned, and he left for Egypt in 1219. Though Francis did appoint leaders to be in charge in his absence, he hadn’t carefully considered what was required to lead a religious order, much less groomed others to take on those responsibilities. The result, combined with the lack of clarity in mission mentioned above, was disastrous. This episode served as a precursor to what happened when Francis died, when the fault lines in the order revealed themselves and caused more serious division and an eventual split in the order.

Careful attention to raising up leaders can help a group through the difficulties of transition and keep a group moving together toward its goal when a leader is away for an extended absence or when the leader retires or dies.

St. Francis, not always knowing what he was doing, succeeded in a number of ways as a leader and also failed in a number of ways. Both his successes and his failures can prove instructive. By reflecting on both his successes and his failures, leaders today can learn how to become more effective.

[An earlier version of this blog appeared in the June 2015 blog.]

6 Leadership Lessons of St. Francis

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As I observe St. Francis’s feast day this week, at the same time that I’m teaching in a Soul of Leadership residency, I ponder what I can learn from him about leadership. Like all of us, Francis scored some wins and some losses when it came to leadership. And like all of us, Francis didn’t always know in advance what approach to leadership would prove effective. As I reflect on Francis’ life, six lessons in leadership effectiveness stand out to me.

1.  Be true to yourself. Francis traveled a number of paths before he found the one that was right for him. The son of a successful cloth merchant in thirteenth-century Italy, Francis seemed destined for business success. From playboy to soldier to knight to cloth merchant, Francis experimented with paths he thought might suit him. It was only when he heard God’s call to rebuild the church that he discovered his true path. Yet when he abandoned his father’s business and embraced poverty and service, the townspeople called him crazy. For years he wandered through his native city following a path that no one understood. In time, as he persevered in pursuing the way that was his to pursue, a few people caught his vision and began to follow him. Eventually, his followers numbered in the thousands. By being true to himself and persevering in the face of misunderstanding and mockery, Francis forged a new way that attracted thousands.
2. Love God passionately. Francis brought the passion of his former life to his love of God. Not one for half measures, Francis fell utterly in love with God, and loved with abandon. He roamed the countryside singing of his love, and he constantly sought ways to please God.
3. Embrace all. Francis learned early on that rebuilding God’s church meant embracing everyone. He embraced the leper who represented the lowest caste in society. When people began to follow his way, he embraced brothers from the highest class to the lowest, inviting them to live together in simplicity and community. When Clare ran away from home in order to follow him, he embraced her and helped her establish a women’s order. Francis learned to see the gifts that each person brought and to embrace people with gratitude for their contributions.
4. Live with joy. Francis lived with contagious joy. His delight in the beauty of nature, in the uniqueness of each person, in the gifts of God, drew people to him. Even in adversity, Francis lived with joy. For example, when a hut in which he took refuge for a night proved to be infested with mice, after an initial expression of displeasure, Francis welcomed his “brother mice” with joy and hospitality. His joy disarmed friends and detractors alike.
5. Approach power courageously. Francis, the “little poor man of Assisi,” decided early in his ministry that he and his tiny band of brothers should approach the Pope to ask for his blessing on their way of life. Undaunted by Pope Innocent III’s wealth and power in contrast to their outcast status, the rag-tag band walked from Assisi to Rome. Rebuffed by the cardinals when they arrived, they persevered in seeking an audience with the Pope. After the Pope had a dream in which he saw a little poor man holding up a huge church, he realized he needed to talk to Francis. Francis and the brothers, fearless before the Pope, described their way of life as living the gospel as Jesus intended. The Pope, impressed by their sincerity and commitment, gave his provisional blessing.
6. Reach across differences. The Crusades broke Francis’ heart. He hated seeing Christians fighting Muslims over the holy land. In 1219, he traveled to Egypt where the battle was raging, and crossed enemy lines, unarmed, in order to speak with the Ottoman Sultan. He hoped to find common ground, and risked his life to do so. He boldly spoke to the Sultan and the Sultan listened attentively. Though he didn’t achieve reconciliation, the two men left the encounter with mutual respect and admiration.

St. Francis, not always knowing what he was doing, discovered how to be an effective leader as he followed his calling. Much of his success in leadership was a side effect of his faithfulness.

St. Francis displayed a great deal of love and courage during his lifetime, and he influenced many people through his example. His life, teachings, and spiritual insights have attracted many followers through the years. His teachings are timeless and continue to live on today.

Note: Francis also suffered a number of failures in leadership which can also prove instructive, to be explored in a subsequent reflection.

[An earlier version of this blog appeared in the May 2015 blog.]

Impermanent Leadership

I recently spent several days at the beach. As I watched the waves come in and go out, I was reminded of the impermanence of all things. Mighty waves crash against the shore and immediately lose their form and power. Sand castles, carefully constructed, disappear in one crash of a wave.

At the same time as I watched the waves, I read Tilden Edwards’ new memoir, Life Woven in Sacred Time. As the founder of the Shalem Institute and its first executive director (for 27 years!), Tilden reflects, among other things, on what it was like to lead a contemplative organization. As Shalem’s current executive director, I reflect on what resonates with my experience. The impermanence of leadership stands out and shimmers for me.

When I construct a sand castle, I do so knowing full well that it will disappear in the blink of an eye. Yet as I build an organization, I am tempted again and again to regard my work as permanent.

Tilden reminds me that contemplative leadership is full of surprise, humility, humor, awe, and surrender. These things serve to remind us that our best human plans can be upended in a moment. He tells stories of establishing programs, not knowing which would continue to thrive and which would fade away. He recounts fundraising experiences: 1) Certain that the Rockefeller Brothers Foundation would not fund Shalem’s two grant proposals after the impassive visitor from the Fund departed, he was amazed to learn that they decided to fund both proposals fully; 2) Another year, they had to reduce staff and expenses when they fell significantly short in raising the money they thought they needed.

The uncertainty of programs and funding kept him humble. He would put his best ideas forward and at the same time, watch and wait to see what God would do. Leadership was full of both wonderful surprises and devastating disappointments.

My own experience mirrors Tilden’s. For example, when the pandemic hit and we had to cancel programs, all my careful planning became irrelevant. I had to come to a point of acknowledging “if we perish, we perish,” at the same time doing my best to discern what steps to take to meet the challenges at hand. When it became clear that some programs could thrive and even grow on Zoom, we knew that God still had work for Shalem to do.

When staff changes due to retirements, graduate programs, and other opportunities occurred, I had to trust that the way would open for the right staff to come along to do the work that Shalem was called to do. When doors closed that I thought would open, I had to reassess what I thought Shalem was called to, listening for God’s voice in the midst of the many voices (including my own) clamoring for my attention.

Contemplative leadership, then, allows for the impermanence of all things. Contemplative leaders trust that the organization will survive and thrive as long as it can be of service in the world, in the ways that it can be of service. They are willing to let go when the work of the organization is finished. They are willing to surrender their own agendas when doors close. They listen for the new when their plans fizzle. They receive what is given in humility and gratitude.

My hope and prayer is that I can serve day by day, week by week, year by year, with an awareness of the impermanence of leadership. It is a spiritual practice that keeps me humble.

(This is a further development of an article that appeared in the September 2022 Executive Soul blog.)

Soulful Leadership in Education

In 1744, the leaders of the Maryland and Virginia colonies signed a treaty with the Native Americans of the area. These colonial leaders then invited the Native Americans to send their boys to the College of William and Mary. The tribal elders declined that offer, saying:

We know that you highly esteem the kind of learning taught in those Colleges, and that the Maintenance of our young Men, while with you, would be very expensive to you. We are convinced that you mean to do us Good by your Proposal; and we thank you heartily. But you who are wise must know that different Nations have different Conceptions of things and you will therefore not take it amiss if our ideas of this kind of Education happen not to be the same as yours. We have had some Experience of it. Several of our young People were formerly brought up at the Colleges of the Northern Provinces: they were instructed in all your Sciences; but, when they came back to us, they were bad Runners, ignorant of every means of living in the woods. . . neither fit for Hunters, Warriors, nor Counsellors, they were totally good for nothing.
We are, however, not the less oblig’d by your kind offer, tho’ we decline accepting it; and, to show our grateful Sense of it, if the Gentlemen of Virginia will send us a Dozen of their Sons, we will take Care of their Education, instruct them in all we know, and make Men of them (from Letters to a Nation, edited by Andrew Carroll, with thanks to Palmer and Zajonc for quoting it in The Heart of Higher Education).”

This clash of cultures raises many questions: What is education? Who decides what is a good education? What is the purpose of education? What does soulful leadership look like in education?

Like the gentlemen of Maryland and Virginia, we live and move and exist in a set of assumptions about the superiority of the dominant culture’s kind of education. For centuries, the dominant culture in the West has fostered a “neck up” model of education. Many alternative models of education have sprung up over the years, one of them being contemplative education.

Contemplative educators ask: How do we educate the whole person? How can head and heart be integrated? How can we explore meaning and purpose in education?

From introducing a simple nonsectarian breathing meditation practice or inviting reflective reading or compassionate presence, to using advanced techniques of meditation in teaching comparative mysticism to graduate students, the possibilities for contemplative practices relevant to course content are endless.

Empirical studies validate these practices, demonstrating that learning is enhanced by the integration of appropriate contemplative practices in the classroom. For example, the Association for Contemplative Mind in Higher Education (http://www.contemplativemind.org/programs/acmhe) provides resources on its website to help faculty choose contemplative practices to introduce to their students and to undergird the use of these practices with studies demonstrating their effectiveness.

Arthur Zajonc, a physicist and contemplative educator, believes that contemplative education rests on an “epistemology of love.” He enumerates the seven aspects of this epistemology: 1) respect, 2) gentleness, 3) intimacy, 4) vulnerability, 5) participation, 6) transformation, and 7) imaginative insight. He argues that, while focusing on love is counterintuitive to the dominant epistemology, such an epistemology results in outstanding scholarship and teaching. He cites Einstein, Goethe, and biologist Barbara McClintock as examples of those who practiced an epistemology of love.

Contemplative methods of education deserve to be explored and developed at all levels of education. Like the gentlemen of Maryland and Virginia in the eighteenth century, we need to move beyond our myopic view of education. The dominant culture in education is not the only way. In the twenty-first century, it’s time to explore more holistic and effective approaches to education.

(This blog is a further development of an excerpt from The Soul of Higher Education, co-edited by Margaret Benefiel and Bo Karen Lee, Information Age Publishing, 2019. Used with permission of publisher.)

Juneteenth

Juneteenth 2021, Photo Credit: City of Greenville, North Carolina via Flickr, Public Domain

On April 9, 1865, Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant of the U.S. Army. On June 2, General Edmund Kirby Smith surrendered the Trans-Mississippi Department, the last major army of the Confederacy, to the United States, in Galveston, Texas.

Seventeen days later, Major General Gordon Granger of the U.S. Army arrived to take charge of the soldiers stationed there. On June 19, he issued General Order Number 3, stating:

“The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor.”

Juneteenth has been celebrated by people freed from enslavement since then, and on June 17, 2021, President Biden signed bipartisan legislation making Juneteenth a federal holiday.

It hasn’t been an easy road for people freed from enslavement. Following the Thirteenth Amendment, oppressive laws with discrimination in enforcement were instituted, resulting in people of color being imprisoned in far greater proportion than their white counterparts. Furthermore, southern states passed “Black Codes” discriminating against people of color, and the Fourteenth Amendment countered these. Jim Crow laws kept discrimination firmly in place for decades and the “new Jim Crow” does the same now. Police killings of unarmed black people continue unabated.

As a white person, I ask, “How can I celebrate Juneteenth by working for justice? How can I address unjust laws and practices where I live? How can I work to dismantle structures of racism within my workplace and faith community?” Taking Juneteenth seriously means continuing to challenge the racism prevalent around us. May we each know what is ours to do.