Living into Wisdom - © Betsy Tabor 6.27.2010

One afternoon last winter, I stood in a long line at the post office. Only one station was
open, and at it stood an ancient woman. She was small and very cute with her gray cloth
coat, a matching flannel hat and sturdy shoes. We were all in a hurry, and fourteen sets
of eyes were focused on her.
And the darnedest thing happened. The “little old lady”—she was!—had an unbelievable
number of questions about just which way was the best way to send her envelope. One
by one, smiling and with exquisite gentleness and patience, the woman behind the
counter answered the questions. Then more questions came, and the postal worker kept
on answering them, with a tender smile (that we could see) that said, “I’m here for you,
I’ll help you as long as you need me. I’m all yours.”
I’ll never forget this, the attendant charmed by her darling customer and fully enjoying
the transaction. I realized I was smiling too. I looked back at the line, and everyone was
enchanted and smiling. Not that anyone had tried to, but the energy in the room had
completely shifted—our hearts had all softened. Eventually, the errand was done, and the
diminutive woman walked out of our lives.
She wasn’t the only person touched that day by kindness. They say we’re hard-wired for
empathy, and the sweetness of that transaction stopped the busy days—and busy minds—
of some busy people. It opened us up and evoked a raw, tender “Aw!” I still feel it.
She could have been my mom, or your grandmother or neighbor. We knew just what she
was feeling, overwhelmed by all those choices: weight, cost, carbon footprint (ground/
air?), when it would get there. When we get flummoxed, we can feel pretty hung out to
dry—how nice a little help is. And how heartening it is, now and then, to really be
seen—or to witness someone else being seen—in a moment of need.
~ ~ ~
What is it like to be an elder in our society? I won’t use the “o” word—in our country, it
doesn’t always denote the respect and honor it does elsewhere. Other cultures venerate
their elders, but we don’t like the idea of aging—we do want to live long lives, though!
(As my Zen calendar says, “If it’s not paradoxical, it’s not true.”)
This spring Professor Brita Gill-Austern somberly pointed out that Americans treat the
people at either end of the age spectrum—our babies and our seniors—with less attention
and care than we do anyone else. The people we hire to look after them are among the
least skilled and the most underpaid workers in the country—many barely speak English.
We don’t see our seniors as productive—sadly, they are our most undervalued, most
powerless citizens.4 This seems worth our pursuing, we who celebrate the worth and
dignity of all people.
4 Brita Gill-Austern, 2/25/10, Andover Newton Theological School.
6
What comes up for me is the idea of mattering. Each of us yearns to matter, it’s easy
enough to let someone know that THEY matter, and it can take a lifetime to figure out
WHAT matters! As we move through the years, does what matters change? You might
say that what matters to you, what resonates in your heart and mind as true, is what has
meaning for you. It’s different for all of us. What has meaning for us is our theology.
Some psychologists believe that each developmental stage we go through is about finding
meaning. Robert Kegan believes that humans are pulled in two opposing directions all
the time. On the one hand, we are pulled toward LOVE—toward each other; we want to
belong, to be part of the big, juicy, all-in-this-together human experience. On the other,
we’re pulled toward FREEDOM—we want to find ourselves, individuate, stand tall and
shine in our uniqueness. There’s a built-in instability here—you’ve felt it, right?
Our conflicting drives (to be together and to do our own thing) cause us hope and despair,
and we try to make sense of that. What we learn informs and creates our journey, and our
faith. We’d be wise to tend our spiritual gardens and notice what really matters to us
along the way. If we pay attention, perhaps we’ll be gifted with glimpses of wisdom now
and then.
~ ~ ~
Another story about mattering: May Sarton’s novel, As We Are Now, is about Caro, a
lovely eighty-something woman who’s been unfairly moved into a dilapidated farmhouse
along with six heavily medicated men and two sadistic nurses. Caro, once a school
teacher, fights challenging odds to hold onto her dignity and her integrity. Her deserved
anger is twisted into a symptom of old age—they try to numb her with meds. Isolated
and neglected, losing her sense of identity, she feels herself start to unravel. Then the
head nurse goes on vacation—in her place comes a warm, thoughtful woman. She sees
Caro. Likes her. Takes time to be with her. And when she puts a simple cloth and a rose
on Caro’s breakfast tray, Caro is undone with emotion. She writes:
It is only a little frightening to be swept back into feeling so much…Whatever
lives in us—the heart and its capacity for suffering and for joy…never die, and
must have an object….I have only seen this dear woman for a day and already I
feel less starved and ornery, less arid, less ready to break out in anger. A single
rose, a tray cloth, the presence of goodheartedness ….I know that I can still
respond to life in a normal human way….5
….it is being cared for as though I were worthy of care.6
… this is one of the proofs of true love: It always comes as revelation, and we
approach it always with awe as if it had never taken place before on earth in any
5 May Sarton, As We Are Now. New York: W. W. Norton & Co.,1982, 84.
6 Ibid., 92.
7
human heart, for the very essence of [love’s] power is that it makes all things
new.7
Now this is a story of extremes, but the message is clear, and we can act on it. The touch
of a hand, the gift of a flower, can create a field shift. As when the postal worker smiled
and conveyed that she had all the time in the world, simple kindness can make all the
difference. It can be what matters.
For me the most poignant aspect of aging is the desire—it never goes away—to matter.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” says an elderly mother. “You don’t want to drag old
Grandma around all weekend!” It’s as if she, a force in her time, has lost her sense of
usefulness—she doesn’t know how she fits in, now that someone else is the organizer.
We need to let our elders know that they matter, not because of what they do but because
of who they are.
Aging has its challenges. Ann, who attends the seniors’ class I teach at the Y, says, “The
older you get, the more you have losses and change.” Losses. You lose kids in the house
and their activities, you retire and lose your routine, your colleagues, your sense of
agency, you lose friends who die. Then there’s your body: you lose your youthful good
looks, your vision, your memory, your knees….I won’t go on!
But loss is only part of it. Whether your style is to go for broke and have a wild ride or
whether it’s to find the flow—“the mystery floating in a sea of awe”—aging IS better
than the alternative. Our elders are the lucky ones—if we’re lucky, we get there!
Here at South Church, Marie Coates creates wicked good hors d’oeuvres. Ellen Forbes
enjoys the perspective of what she calls her “wide angle lens.” Marie O’Brien
appreciates when body, mind and spirit are in sync and looks forward to “really good
days” with family and friends. For Art and Carol Cole, a good day is a day free of
physical discomfort; a good night, a night of sleep. Dave Pierson says, “I’m just happy to
be here. Every morning is a good morning.” Edith loves to see what people are up to
these days. Jack Reynolds delights in his daughter’s first year as a UU minister.
I see in my mom vivid emotions and a clarity about what counts. “I don’t need to go the
party the night before,” she said, “I just want to do what really matters—and that’s go to
Laura’s graduation.” I see in my mother-in-law a willingness to ease up: “I can be
patient now and let things happen more, not try to control them.” Wow, that’s what AAstyle
groups teach millions all over the world. Letting go—that is wisdom! “The
biggest thing we have,” says Ann from the Y, “is wisdom.”
In my mind, wisdom and elders go hand in hand. I love how Professor Greg Mobley
translates the Hebrew word for wisdom, “hokma”: It’s “a way of talking about God—the
personification of that aspect of God that beautifies and unifies reality, that makes it
7 Ibid., 98.
8
elegant and beautiful, and that ties our ordinary lives together with what lies beneath the
surface.”
We learn as we live. Do we acquire more wisdom with time? A Dartmouth valedictorian
said, “As we go through life we accumulate these experiences that mean something to us
and that we can look back upon for strength. Little by little, we bend the arcs of our lives
in the direction of the people…we aspire to be. Change is a given. The real challenge is
how we respond to it.”8
What can the guru on the mountaintop, away from the rough-and-tumble of life, or
anyone else, tell us about our lives? The truth lies within—our best advisers are the ones
who guide us home to it. Do we have to be old to be wise? (We all know children who
are “old souls.”) Is wisdom in the air we breathe, or is it bestowed upon us? Can we
pray for it? The ancients thought so. The First Book of Kings says: “…God gave
Solomon wisdom and very great discernment and breadth of mind, like the sand that is on
the seashore.”9 In the NT, James, widely thought to be the brother of Jesus, wrote that
we need only ask God for wisdom and it will be granted.
As I approach sixty, it feels as if wisdom is there for the asking. I believe it’s here in
abundance, everywhere—within us and all around us. We can’t summon it, but our
action, our intention helps. We have to quiet down—turn things off—and listen for it.
I started thinking about this one morning in May. I’d gone into the pocket garden at
Prescott Park, where eight crab-apple trees were in full bloom. White petals mounded in
piles on the bricks—my artist friend Patrick calls them “spring snow.” I sat on a bench
under the canopy. Looking up, it was a mass of white blossoms, with bits of blue sky
peeking through. With each breeze a few more petals floated down onto the sidewalk.
They’re like wisdom, I thought, just floating through the air, always there.
Generally, I’m not a heaven kind of a person, but heaven is what came to mind. As I was
leaving, I noticed an old man smoking a cigarette at the other end of the park. We both
looked up. He said, “They’re like big white puffy clouds.” We smiled at each other.
I wonder whether “living our questions” eventually reveals an inner wisdom that’s been
deep inside us all along, waiting to resonate. Buddhist Willa Miller writes, "…wisdom is
ultimately not acquired or developed, created or fashioned….you do not have to 'try' to
have wisdom. It is…born with you....” We get glimpses of our wisdom now and then.
Perhaps they’re glimpses of our essence.
8 Tomi Jun, Valedictorian Address, Dartmouth College, June 13, 2010. Accessed 16 June
2010, http://www.dartmouth.edu/~commence/speeches/2010/jun.html, Internet.
91 Kings 29.
9
Surely, we get wiser with the years. Dag Hammarskjold wrote, "How long the road is.
But how I've needed every turn of the road in order to LEARN what the road passes
by."10 Last year, rolfer Paul Gordon suggested that we all have two piles: one is the pile
of all your crap, all your emotional baggage. It’s large! The other is the smaller pile of
your awareness. As you live your life—with good and not-so-good moments—insights
come. Every time you get an insight, your pile of stuff comes down a little, while your
awareness grows. I see this growing awareness as wisdom.
Another teacher, homeopath Nancy Frederick, talks about our spiritual containers. We
go through hard times in our lives figuring things out—illness, conflicts, stuckness,
disappointment. (As the Buddhists say, our obstacles are our teachers.) And when we
look back, we find that we now think differently than we did before. Theologian Henry
Wieman wrote that our insights change who we are. When we take in a new insight,
everything that we were before gets re-calibrated to accommodate it. We come out of
that new, bigger. Our spiritual container has expanded.
So this is how I see our dear elders: their bodies are no great shakes at this point, but
their containers can be something! So can their piles of awareness! They may have oldfashioned
ways, but they know things that younger people cannot. What matters has been
distilled over the years: most elders I know find their meaning in connecting. There’s
more room now in their lives for others, and what matters are gatherings, visits, groups
where people notice if you don’t show up, helping others. As my friend Ann says, “You
can pretty much help anybody!”
And are people at other stages of life any different? No. They may be busier, but Olive
tells it like it is: “We’re all starving.” You don’t need to be eighty to know what she’s
talking about. Who isn’t starving, at least now and then, to feel that they matter?
How lovely that a mere smile, a laugh, a flower in a juice glass says, “You matter,” and
shifts the feeling in a room, softens a heart! Reaching out in these tried and true, simple
ways is spiritual work. It’s how we transcend our physical selves and the differences
between us.
We’re not so very different from one another. I’m reminded of Greg Mobley’s moral of
many a Bible story: “We hold the key to each other’s identity.” I think we do. So let’s
appreciate longevity and elders everywhere—their vibrant feelings, their desire to matter,
their wisdom, their piles of awareness and their spacious containers! Amen.