A poem, a pivot, and a prayer post—those are the three things I liked this week, and that’s what you’ll find below.
First, the poem I’ll share with you comes from George Herbert (1593–1633) once again. It’s called “Jesu,” and it’s quite clever:
JESU is in my heart, his sacred name
Is deeply carved there: but th’other week
A great affliction broke the little frame,
Ev’n all to pieces: which I went to seek:
And first I found the corner, where was J,
After, where ES, and next where U was graved.
When I had got these parcels, instantly
I sat me down to spell them, and perceived
That to my broken heart he was I ease you,
And to the whole is J E S U.
“What in the world?” you might be wondering. What’s the meaning?
Well, pull up a chair and listen.
In Latin, and according to common Renaissance spelling, the letters I and J were not distinguished. As a result, the names “Jesu” and “Iesu” were identical. With that in mind, Herbert imagines the name “Jesu” engraved on his heart—an allusion to 2 Corinthians 3:3. Then, “a great affliction” shatters his heart, breaking the inscription into pieces.
As Herbert stoops to gather the fragments and fit them back together, he notices that they have fallen into three parts: I, ES, and U. Read another way, they spell out the comforting words, “I ease you.” Once he reassembles the pieces, however, the familiar name “Jesu” appears once again.
Herbert’s point is profoundly pastoral: Affliction often reveals Christ to us in ways that comfort never can. Jesus is always the Savior, but in our deepest sorrow he also becomes, as it were, “I ease you.” At the very place of our pain, he makes himself known as the One who draws near, comforts, and sustains his people.
Amazing, huh? That’s why Herbert is one of my favorite poets! (I also feel a deeply personal connection to him because he was a small church pastor his entire ministry.)
Second, a pivot. In his immensely helpful book The Road Less Triggered, psychologist Kelly Flanagan walks readers through his Peaceful Pivot Process. After thirty years of clinical work, Flanagan has learned (and now teaches) that lasting relationship change begins not by fixing the other person or the relationship, but by calming your own nervous system, learning from your triggers, and then returning to the relationship with an open heart. (Can I encourage you to pause here and read that sentence again?)
As part of the Pivot Process, Flanagan urges his clients to shift their attention away from the who and instead pay attention to the what. In short, shift your focus away from the person and instead pay attention to the pain. Here’s what Flanagan wants his clients (and readers) to see: We think we’re reacting to people, but really we’re reacting to pain. And this pain has a genealogy—and it’s that genealogy we need to trace all the way back to its birth.
Example (a scenario drawn from several people and conversations): While visiting Johnny (not his real name) in Florida several years ago, his phone buzzed. He lifted the phone from the table, pressed ignore, and then said, “I’m not taking his call right now. He can wait. Ever since he started dating his new girlfriend, he has no time for our friendship, so why should I make time for him?” He was visibly upset.
If we apply the Peaceful Pivot Process here, the who is the friend with whom Johnny is upset. But the what goes much deeper. The product of a blended family, a history of broken relationships and devastating betrayal, has left Johnny with lasting scars. I know enough to know he feels forgotten. Consequently, the context in which Johnny’s outburst of anger took place was the catalyst but not the cause of his angry outburst.
Hence, Flanagan’s conclusion: “If you can elevate your perspective, you’ll see the patterns in your pain instead of the problems with your people.”
Third, I LOVED Scotty Smith’s prayer from Wednesday, July 15th. You can read it here. (Do yourself a favor and click that link!”
My favorite lines were:
At the end of this very brief life none of us will say, “I’m SO glad I nursed those grudges and fertilized my roots of bitterness. I didn’t win the lottery, but I was awesome at taking things way too personally, assuming the worst of everyone, blaming and shaming, and pouting—I was especially good at pouting.”
And also:
Jesus, when you return and we behold the staggering fullness of your beauty, grace, and goodness—none of us are going to congratulate ourselves for being small-hearted, grace-misers.
Until next week . . .
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