The wagon wheel

Imagine a wagon wheel. There’s a solid wooden hub in the center, and several spokes extending outward to the rim. At the FUM Triennial in June, Dan Kasztelan used this image to help a group of young Friends visualize how our connection with other people relates to our connection with God.

In this metaphor, God is the hub and we live along the spokes. At any moment we exist at some point along our spoke- a certain distance from God and from other people (who exist on other spokes). Say we have an experience that connects us with someone else. We talk to a sibling, say hi to a neighbor, sit down next to a coworker at lunch rather than sitting alone. As we draw closer to our fellows, we slide toward the center of the wheel, where the spokes come together. There we find ourselves – aha! – closer to God. When we draw closer to others, we draw closer to God.

Some ways of connecting to others (like those mentioned) are easier than others, and generally the harder ones connect us more profoundly. Saying “hi” to a neighbor is one thing; opening up about our personal practices is another.

I know this comfort zone around personal practices well, because I have spent a lot of time barging into people’s personal space. During college I delivered room service on weekend mornings at a hotel. It was my job to march in on people at their un-caffeinated, conversationally compromised best, before they had truly emerged from the cocoon.

One week I brought a breakfast tray to the same guest three days in a row, and I got a sense for his morning pattern. He ordered the same cereal, milk, fruit and coffee drink each day, and opened the door in the same half-ready state: bathrobe, but hair already neatly combed over.

“You can see I’m a creature of habit,” he remarked on the third morning.

“I’m the same way,” I told him truthfully, though I was relieved to realize that he would never be privy to my breakfast routine.

Why my relief? Because maybe my habits are peculiar! Does everyone put half an ice cube in a cup of tea? Is that an extravagant amount of cinnamon-sugar to put into oatmeal? Our routines can seem utterly normal—until they come under the scrutiny of someone else.

If sharing our wake-up-get-ready routine feels vulnerable, a conversation about our inner spiritual practices might feel positively intimate. But what a great way to move closer to the other wagon spokes! Maybe we can strengthen our own practices by hearing what works for others. So consider responding to this:

What are our spiritual practices? Or, How do we seek God? At FUM we tried several practices that were new to me, among them worship sharing, Lectio Divina and Examen.

Thomas Kelly said that “the value of [John] Woolman and [George] Fox and the Quakers of today for the world does not lie merely in their outward deeds of service to suffering men, it lies in that call to all men to the practice of orienting their entire being in inward adoration…”

How do you orient your being toward inward adoration? Walking? Sitting with a cat on your lap? Cooking? Worshiping among Friends in the Meetinghouse? Building something with clay? I often practice by nudging myself outside before 7:00 to witness the early morning.

I won’t ask you how you like your eggs, or whether you order whipped cream on your Starbucks (though feel free to share); but please do leave a comment about your experience with spiritual practices. What do you do? How often? Does it matter the time of day? We’ll all benefit from your contribution.