Traveling Towards Emptiness: A Farewell before Sabbatical
February 28, 2010
by Rev. Lisa Romantum Schwartz
About a month ago I went to a workshop to help lay the foundation for my sabbatical. It was especially geared to ministers, though there were lay leaders there as well. The experience was designed to facilitate self-exploration in the context of spiritual seeking. In the midst of that workshop there was one particular exercise that was both scary and fruitful for me. I invite you now to participate in an adaptation of the exercise.
I’ll ask you a single question several times, and I hope that as you hear the question repeated you can answer from a deeper place each time. Here is the question: Who are you when you are not busy? (Take some time with this question if you can.)
The workshop was wonderful on many levels, but that exercise led me to the most profound revelation about myself I’ve had in quite a while. As my dyad partner asked me the question, sometimes softly, sometimes insistently, I began to get in touch with lots of feelings. When I’m not busy, I must be … lazy. Busy hands are HAPPY hands, after all, and idle hands are the devil’s playground.
It was amazing to me that so much old baggage was easily dredged up. (Was it that way for you?) Clearly, my comfort zone includes a lot of busyness. And I don’t think I’m alone. Unitarian Universalists are often most comfortable when we are busy, when we are talking, debating, studying and analyzing.
You know what’s right outside the comfort zone? The learning zone. That’s right – when you’re in your comfort zone, not much learning can take place. The most profound growth and learning experiences are often dis-comforting, unsettling. If nothing else, there’s discomfort in realizing: I don’t know as much as I thought I did.
But if we must be discomforted to be in the learning zone, it doesn’t mean we ought to be scared. Farther outside the learning zone is: The Panic Zone. And once you get there, learning has stopped and survival mode kicks in. So the challenge for people who want to learn and grow is to get out of the comfort zone and be willing to feel unsettled, but to stop short of absolute panic.
My comfort zone is a busy, busy, busy, place, enforced with lots of deep-seated fears about being, or appearing to be, lazy. To get into my learning zone – the sabbatical zone – I need to let go of the busyness, to be a human being, instead of a human doing. It sounds simple: Take an extended period of time to stop doing so much.
But as this sabbatical time has approached, I’ve found it’s difficult to imagine disengaging from doing. My doing, my job, is after all a key source of my identity. Which is not to say that my identity is entirely bound up in being a minister. But a lot of it is. And it has become … comfortable. And that means I have some exploring to do.
In his book, Just Work, Harvard political theorist Russell Muirhead says:
Along with family and religion, work remains one of the central activities constituting everyday life. Work is instrumental (we work to earn and spend), but work is rarely only that: it is also formative. Devoting the bulk of our waking hours to a particular activity over many years has an effect on who we are, whether we like it or not...
So it’s not just a personal problem, but a cultural focus on work and its rewards. As the reading (The Sabbath Habit, from Breakfast Epiphanies by David Anderson) by Anderson suggested, our chronic overwork may even be an addiction. Being busy, even to the point where we neglect our families and our hobbies and our health (and work ourselves to the point of exhaustion) is an American badge of honor.
Gordon MacKenzie, who worked for Hallmark for 30 years, says:
When [an organization, or a culture] prizes those who are heroically overworked in stress-filled jobs, a siren song whispers to everyone else… Make your job difficult, stretch yourself thin, stress yourself out, and eventually you, too, may be honored with … [our] approval. If you desire the blessing of the Mighty Corporate [Bosses, or perhaps the UUFT Board of Trustees, congregational leaders, minister, or DRE,] work longer hours (than is sensible), take on more responsibility (than is sensible), make your job harder (than is sensible). …This cultural seduction plays into the old illusion that if we just work hard enough and we just work long enough we will finally be found valuable, finally be found lovable, and finally find security.
A “cultural seduction:” that image resonates for me. And I couldn’t resist adding the UUFT language into MacKenzie’s stuff, because I have to wonder: how is it that this place, our beloved community, asks so much of volunteer staff (and paid staff too) that we run the risk of burning them out? I think this is worth looking at, if we really are a Beloved Community.
What makes this place a holy place is not that God Lives Here. Unitarian Universalist Theists don’t locate God within a building, not even a UU church or a Fellowship. One thing that, for me, makes this place holy is that our community dares to challenge the cultural norms that surround us in our daily lives.
In so many ways we embody counter cultural values: We accept and celebrate all kinds of families, all kinds of spiritual paths, we teach children and youth about sexuality, giving them accurate and age-appropriate information, we stand on the side of love and support civil rights for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people, and work to uphold the disempowered and disinherited through many social justice initiatives, we care for our earth, and try in many small ways (and some large) to make a real difference in the health of our planet. How did such a proudly counter-cultural place manage to so deeply embrace the cultural value of overwork?
We may like to think that, like the lotus, we are “in the muddy water, but not of it,” but the muddy waters of overwork formed us, and nourish us still. And there is some great, rewarding stuff about work, or should be. But it’s wise to be very aware of the seductive qualities of work, and ask a lot of questions.
For instance, in an article on considering a call to the UU ministry, Greg Pelley asks, “If my job … is to be the key source of my identity, what do I want that identity to be?”
Once, I thought I knew. When I went to seminary I was 30 years old. I had a recently-weaned toddler, and a relatively new marriage. I knew I was called to ministry, because I felt an inexorable pull to this work. I didn’t know if I was called by a Who or a What, or if the “call” I heard was merely the echo of my own yearning, but I felt compelled to answer.
Now, at 51, I have an adult child, a marriage approaching a quarter-century mark, and my ministry involves a relationship of deep trust and mutual challenge with a community that is truly beloved to me. I still know I’m called to this work, and to this place. But what is it to be called at this stage of life, to a particular, beloved place? I need to spend some time exploring that, and I know that unless I get out of my comfort zone (busy busy busy) I won’t be able to delve very deeply into that holy ground.
So, here I am, about to launch into my first-ever sabbatical, a time to rest and refresh, and to explore my personal, spiritual, and professional self more deeply than I can in just a few days or a few weeks off. I thank you for giving me this opportunity, and if you’re wondering, “Wait, what do we get out of this?” don’t be embarrassed –– you’re surely not alone.
The Unitarian Universalist Association believes that minister’s sabbaticals strengthen our movement, and that’s one of the reasons a sabbatical has become standard practice in UU congregations. And of course a congregation gets direct benefits, too; they get a refreshed and renewed minister, a leader who’s tanked up and ready to go for another bunch of years. While those are both reasonable benefits to expect, you ought to hold out for even more.
Since all Unitarian Universalist congregations are lay led, meaning that the bulk of the decision-making and of the sweat equity falls to the members and friends of the Fellowship, it’s important to have a strong and vital lay leadership. Sometimes, ever so subtly, when the minister’s around, certain tasks get shifted to her. And especially if the minister’s a task-oriented person who’s identity is tied up with being busy busy busy, she gamely takes it on. Soon, no one but the minister even knows how to do certain tasks.
I’ve begun to realize that when I overfunction the lay leadership is actually disempowered. That’s not the kind of minister I want to be, or the kind of congregation I want to serve. So, another benefit of the minister being away is that the laity gets to step up. And if that provokes some anxiety, feels discomforting … that’s OK, you’re just in your learning zone.
As I’ve approached this sabbatical, though, I’ve recognized that what may be the most important thing about it is the model it presents for taking a rest, letting go of busyness, permission to slow down. Several of you have said to me, “I need a sabbatical, too!” And –– you are absolutely right. Everyone would benefit from a sabbath rest.
Some of you lay leaders, you who are approaching burnout (and you know who you are) need to follow my lead, and step back. Encourage those who are standing in the wings, eagerly awaiting an opportunity, to give leadership a try.
But most importantly, I hope that everyone takes a chance to explore what a sabbath rest might look like for you. Saturday is the traditional day –– in Spanish, Sabado (Saturday) even sounds like sabbath. (They have a common root.) What would happen if you and your loved ones decided that on an upcoming Saturday you’d take a day of rest? Not just sleeping in an extra hour before heading off to do errands, but a whole day of rest. A rest from going anywhere, a rest from logging on to the internet, answering the phone... a day to play games, look at old family photos or videos, not even getting out of your pajamas until you feel like it, if you feel like it. What if you spent time just resting, reading, eating pancakes or maybe have a pizza delivered right to your door? And what if you brought to consciousness that, in some religious traditions, taking one day every week for that kind of rest is actually a commandment, on the order of “thou shalt not steal, murder, or lie?”
Remember, if even pondering the idea is uncomfortable, you’re ripe for some deep learning. And if you have to start with a half Sabbath, so be it. I’m betting you’ll notice some benefits, and you’ll be willing to try it again, a little longer. Maybe not for five months... and actually, I’m not planning on spending five months in my pajamas, eating delivery pizza. (Though it’s tempting.)
After a week’s rest, Jim and I are traveling to New Orleans to attend a family wedding. Once we get back to Topeka, I’ll pack up books and art supplies and yarn and I’ll head east on I-70. I’ll stop and visit my sister, and spend a few unhurried days with her on my way to Asheville, North Carolina.
In Asheville I’ll do some 1:1 spiritual direction with the woman who led the workshop I attended last month. I know she’ll challenge me to leave that comfort zone and begin a sojourn in the learning zone. From Asheville I’ll travel to the beach, rent an inexpensive condo for a week (yay for off season rates) and try to soak in the new ideas I got in spiritual direction.
After a stop in Washington, D.C. I’m traveling to New Jersey to spend a few days at Genesis Farm, a learning center for Earth studies. They focus on the ways that having healthy local communities and bioregions is the first step towards a healthy “global commons,” the air, water, land and nature shared by humanity. Genesis Farm is rooted in a spirituality that reverences Earth as a primary revelation of the divine, and they run a sustainable community farm on their land.
After that experience, Jim and I will celebrate our 24th anniversary in NYC!! And from there I’ll see friends and family in Rhode Island, Boston, and Maine. Along the entire route I’ll attend worship at other UU Fellowships and churches. And, during this five months, I won’t be logging on to Facebook, or email, or checking my cell phone messages and texts. Those are powerfully seductive tools, too, and though it makes me uncomfortable, I know I need to unplug for awhile.
Once I get to Bar Harbor, Maine I’ll drive my Corolla onto a ferry and sail over to Nova Scotia. My plan is to drive up into New Brunswick, and then west across the southern part of Canada. I should be home by June, and I’m planning to be at General Assembly, that wonderful, annual international convention of Unitarian Universalists, which this year will be held in Minneapolis. I sincerely hope to see some of you there. (Registration and reservations open online tomorrow.)
I know that when I come back from my sabbatical I will be full of energy, ready to dive back into busy-ness. And I know that I’ll have to resist the temptation to just pick up where I left off, doing the same things in the same way. If a sabbatical isn’t transformational, why bother?
I plan to be in ministry here, with this Fellowship, for many more years, and every relationship, like every dancing couple, needs to learn a few new steps every so often in order to keep the dance interesting, and healthy. On the day that I was “officially installed” as your minister, in a ceremony full of pomp and splendor, we blessed our relationship with the song, Let it Be a Dance. We knew we’d have to negotiate some back and forth, try not to step on each other’s toes too much, and that both of us would have to learn to follow and lead. We knew even then that good dancing is about staying connected even in the moments of separation. I’d welcome your comments and questions, but first let’s sing this song together: Let it be a dance.
