Companions of the Sacred Flame,
Stories and scriptures tell of ourselves as much as we tell them, perhaps more. And like scripture, there are multiple ways we can look at them and draw nutrients from them.
Much like our ancient forebears, who found uses for every part of a planet or animal for sustenance, medicine, clothing or tools – multiple parts and perspectives are something possible with the way we approach stories and scriptures. Instead of being contradictory, mutually exclusive or absolute, engaged with flexibility, reflection and context – they can give shape to the formless, the nameless and create a space where realization can occur.
For February, in honour of her feast day, let’s look at Brigid.
“The story goes that Brigid, and two other nuns from Kildare were traveling during the Lenten season, and at nightfall came to the estate of a pagan chieftain, who offered them hospitality for the night. As the three sisters sat down to share a meal with their host, they were surprised to see that their plates were filled with pork. Without a second’s thought, both of the younger nuns protested, saying that their rule of life would not permit them to eat meat during Lent. Upon hearing this, Brigid stood up, grabbed each of the younger women by their arms, and escorted them out the front door of the house. She returned to the table and said to the dumbfounded pagan lord, “My apologies, good sir. My sisters are under the mistaken impression that their fast matters more than your hospitality.” (Via Carl McColman)
This small story is my favourite snapshot of St. Brigid. Have you ever been in a social setting where someone you know has made a scene out of someone else’s generosity or well meaning kindness? I would wager there are plenty of us who would never dream of doing something like this, even if we felt we must decline, we would probably do it with a lot more sincere regret, empathy and politeness. And yet, as spiritual seekers, there’s a well meaning element where we do exactly this to ourselves.
The western world is riddled with a currency of busyness, of grind credibility, and utility – people work themselves to the bone, and then hold up their own remains as relics to be venerated.
There is an element of this to be found in spirituality – self-denial, asceticism, restriction – applied carefully and with intent, can produce spiritual fruit, but it can also produce a kind of unnecessary martyrdom, self-righteousness, spiritual materialism and spiritual bypassing – where we sacrifice our well-being for credibility, holier than thou holiness, false piety, and use spiritual development to avoid psychological maturity. The last two should go hand in hand, but often don’t.
There is an implicit and relational trinity in this story – a give and take and push and pull between the Saint, the students and the sanctuary (in the person of the chieftain). Not unlike how Love forms a triad – the one who loves, the beloved and love itself and Knowing forms a triad, the one who knows, what or who is known and knowing itself.
In this story, part of us sits in each of the figures here. Today I think of the part of ourselves that may hold us up to unhealthy or unrealistic spiritual standards, the part of us that offers us sustenance in forms counter to the rigorous disciplines we believe we should undertake, and the part of us which would like us to accept our own kindness and gentleness to ourselves. Self-assertiveness, particularly about the self, is important – and two forms are demonstrated here, but one is perhaps healthier than the other.
Do not be so full of piety or self-righteousness that you starve. People who would deny the material in order to access the spiritual, often forget that the spiritual is only accessed through the material – this body, this mind, this context. Be kind to yourself.
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