SQ - Spiritual Intelligence

It was the last night of my groups’ work hosting a weekly night at a rotating homeless shelter called the Robes Project. It was a night like any other and I was doing the usual overnight shift. I often arrive early and help work the dinner shift as well, cooking food, then eating and hanging out with the guests. There was the group of guests and volunteers who had finished eating and started playing Scrabble. Another volunteer was playing a guest in chess. There was the group of guests reading the newspaper. Some people were still eating dessert. Two guests were speaking in their native Sierra Leonean pigeon English. Music was playing in the background and laughter could be heard in the air as many of the books we brought for the donated library sat there, unread. Suddenly one guest, a very distinguished man with a nice black blazer, well-wrapped scarf, and reading glasses, stood up and declared, “Excuse me, excuse me, everyone. I have an announcement to make.”

He was a type of father figure in Robes. He could talk to and with anyone, and he could feel just as comfortable reading to himself in the middle of all our noise, like a father might feel at home in the evening in his favourite chair, drawing comfort from the fact that his children were happy, playful, and alive. This time he made a rare move and took centre stage before all the guests and volunteers.

“I’ve received permission from Olivia and Crispan to make this announcement. As you all know, tonight is the last night for the volunteers here. From now on our Friday nights will be spent at another hosting community. We have been so richly blessed by you and we want to say thank you. The food was amazing. The way you talked to us, laughed with us, played games with us, brought books for us—we were treated so well, and we want to say thank you. The conversation, the love, the joy—it was just amazing and overwhelming. Simply the best. Thank you so very much from the bottom of our hearts. Thank you. May the Good Lord, in all his wondrous workings, richly bless you this day for what you have done with us and for us. May you be richly blessed in all you do wherever you go in Jesus’s name.”

At that moment, the place erupted in applause. Applause is a weird thing to get used to. Some famous people do. I sometimes have to diffuse the energy, so I just jumped in and applauded as well, thanking the guests, too, and thanking the other volunteers who allowed me to participate in this work of learning to relate to the guests. It really was a beautiful moment.

Here is the strange thing: the guests were specifically calling attention to our work over and above the work of other church groups and community groups that host the shelter on other nights. This floored me and blew my mind. They were not saying “Thank you for caring for us when no one did.” No. They were saying “In caring for us, thank you for loving us over and above what was required.” They were saying, “we are cared for a lot by many others, but it is not like this. We are not always loved.” Do you see what I’m saying? I guess, I was surprised because most of the community groups hosting were church groups, and I stereotyped the churches and expected that they would all simply love all over the guests.

I was wrong. Apparently, we were the only people who created a library. However, instead of it being the kind where you return or swap the book, you could keep the book. We were the only ones who brought games. We were the only ones who actually called up the Robes administration (or other hosting groups) to find out what the guests ate throughout the week so that we could cook something original. When my group decided to do the Robes project this year, we decided one thing—we were going to cook the best food ever, food we would cook for ourselves, our families, and our friends. And it makes sense to me because the guests became our friends.

So every week, without a doubt or an aberration, multiple guests told me that we cook the best food.

“The food here is amazing.”

“This is just like home-cooked food. It’s so hearty.”

“We all look forward to coming here every week.”

“I’ve been waiting for Friday just for the meal. We always know it’s going to be good.”

“Uhhh, I’m so sick of pasta and apple crumble. I know I’m gonna get something good tonight! I can’t wait!”

Second helpings and plates were commonplace. I’ve even seen thirds and fourths. People really loved it, whether it was lamb stew, Moroccan chicken, vegetarian curry, or Belgian waffles. To them it was always good. Take it from me, it was goooood. The experience of doing that and the amazingly wonderful time the guests and volunteers had reminded me of why I like my group—they are spiritually intelligent. And just because you’re religious doesn’t mean you’re spiritually intelligent (this explains my surprise at finding out our night was seen as special among all nights of the week for the rotating shelter, even though they are hosted by churches). You can be non-religious and highly spiritually intelligent, and you can be very religious with little spiritual intelligence. This experience reminded me of that truth. This reminded me of that.

I should probably define or explain spiritual intelligence. But let me backtrack to emotional intelligence. We all remember or have heard of the traditional Western understanding of intelligence. I still see it in schools today. This person is smart. That person is dumb. For a long time rational or logical intelligence was the only recognized form of intelligence—IQ. Then Professor Howard Garner was the first person to explicitly articulate the still controversial idea of multiple intelligences in the 1983 book Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences. Though some disagree, people began to realise you can be intelligent in many different ways such as kinesthetic intelligence, musical intelligence, social intelligence, linguistic intelligence, etc. Then another wave of ideas and books were birthed when Daniel Goleman’s 1995 book, Emotional Intelligence (the first use of the term is usually attributed to Wayne Payne’s doctoral thesis in 1985), argued that emotional intelligence (EQ) is at least as important as IQ. Emotional intelligence deals with being aware of people feelings as well as being self-aware of our own. It involves being able to “read” people and situations and enables empathy, compassion, and response to the pain or pleasure of others. You can cultivate and grow EQ throughout your life; it is not static.

However, few of my friends have ever talked to me about spiritual intelligence. The idea started popping up around the late 90’s and one 2001 book, SQ: Connecting with Our Spiritual Intelligence by Danah Zohar and Dr. Ian Marshall, considers spiritual intelligence the most important intelligence. While IQ and EQ mallow you to play within the boundaries, SQ allows you to play with the boundaries and question and criticise the status quo, why things are the way the are, or the meaning of our ways. It allows you to imagine new creative possibilities—the way real faith should be. Spiritual intelligence looks at the big questions and asks them. Why am I here? What is it all for? What should I do with my life? What purpose can I serve? It asks the tough questions about values, existence, meaning, and purpose, allowing you to transcend, at least in thought, the physical and material. Spiritual intelligence deals with the sanctifying of every day experience and the inner life of the mind and spirit and its relation to the world. It’s really just the adaptive mental capacity to deal with nonmaterial things like purpose and meaning, reflect on it, and integrate it into your life such that it affects your understanding of meaning, your awareness of things (whether causes or purposes) bigger than yourself, and peace.

Did you catch the recurring theme in there? It’s the use of reflection and questioning. Unfortunately many religious groups or institutions stifle this type of questioning, criticism, or imagination allowing for little spiritually intelligent growth. Because of the importance for reflection and questioning of the status quo, you can be an atheist with a very high SQ; on the other hand, you can be a staunch religious person and have a very low SQ.

What I love about my group that works to host a night at the rotating shelter is that they are so spiritually intelligent. Though it’s rare that they reference God or Jesus in a meeting, every thing we do—whether a type of service, a pub get-together, or a meal—is pushing us to develop our spiritual intelligence. It’s one of the few experiences I’ve had of being in a group in which people are not encouraged to believe the same things. And for all the critics who say this is untenable or impossible, let me tell you—it works. The only foundation we share in common is love. And love is not a belief.

I have some amazingly spiritually intelligent friends who are not religious, and I’m thankful for them. They care for the sick, host weekly community dinners, give money they don’t have, live in uncomfortable places and spaces for the sake of someone besides themselves. They serve in the military, they teach, they clean buildings, they quench fires, they do a myriad of tasks, and their lives (not just their jobs) are infused with spiritually intelligent actions.

Spiritual intelligence is living and thinking with your soul. Everyone can do that regardless of having a religion. But what does that mean? Dave Tomlinson talks about spiritual intelligence in his book How to be aBad Christian. Some of the qualities he lists are below:

Self-awareness

Principle

Spontaneity

Empathy

Humility

Curiosity

Flexibility

Resilience

Being centred or grounded

Receptivity

Dave lists three ways of cultivating spiritual intelligence. First just make a commitment to go on this inward-outward journey (he calls it an inward journey). I always remind my friends that spiritual intelligence is an outward intelligence as well. The journey starts with questions and reflections but it doesn’t end there. First, you have to commit to start.

The second important thing is to participate in spiritual practices.

To yourself – what are you feeling but ignoring, what thoughts are you pushing to the back of your mind

To other people – friends and family whose concerns or needs you tend to bypass or overlook, strangers who pass by unseen by you

To situations – circumstances in your life that may be saying important things to you or about you

To the world – big things, little things, things of beauty, things you may not have noticed, details that pass you by, unawares

To God – who is present in all these other ways seeking to enrich you and guide you

Last is a hugely important step without which the first two steps don’t mean anything: you have to find a community to go on this journey with you. I know people for whom leaving their church was a spiritually healthy move. I have a friend for whom leaving her church did her faith well because she was in a place that was toxic for her faith. I wish all religious places were about the business of growing spiritually healthy and intelligent people, but we are not. Still, I never want to make the mistake of thinking that it’s a journey that can be done alone. If you venture out from a tough community, find another one that you can work with, one that welcomes and accepts you in love, one that honours and respects you, and one that is concerned about you and your spiritual growth. You have to travel with people that will affirm you and encourage you and also speak truthfully to you, empowering you and enabling you to grow.

No church or religious group or institution is perfect. And there are some amazing examples of church groups that do help to cultivate your spiritual intelligence. I travel around and go between religious groups, but I can tell you that Borough Common, my group that hosts the rotating homeless shelter is a wonderful community of people. They let you ask any question you want, critical or unchallenging. They let you probe who we are as a people, where we are going, and what we are doing. Most importantly, they let you believe what you would like and in the process they love you unconditionally. They are not perfect in any way and you’ll see that when you visit. But I love that I, first, belong. First and foremost, I belong.

SPARKS

Week 2

Each week I hold a community dinner. Now, many weeks it doesn’t happen which my roommate points out. But what he misses is that it’s not important how it ends (we encourage risk and celebrate in failure) or if people decide to come, rather it’s important to try. And I do try. However, I’ve been bothered more and more by the words of a particular Jewish man who lived during the Greco-Roman empire. And those words encourage people to throw a party (dinner party or banquet) for people who cannot pay you back. Now I’ve had trouble understanding this man as I’ve learned to take some of his literal words figuratively and some of his figurative language literally. Currently, I think this was one of the ones you actually could take quite literally (and learn figurative things in the process). Throwing a party for people reminds me of our culture, where it’s (not) really love to give to someone whose will first feel obligated to return it and will then repay it. Giving with the expectation of return. But can you give when there will be no direct or tangible or visible return because the receiver is incapacitated?

Well, I was challenged. After all, I hold a weekly community dinner. Though it doesn’t happen every week due to cancelations or scheduling, I sure do cook and host a lot of friends who ask to bring food or wine, who try to take me out to dinner, who actually try to give me money for the meal, and who invite me over to return the favor. Why wasn’t I hosting and cooking for people on the street? Now, if I had a place where I had full reign I could easily do that. But I don’t live alone and have to be respectful of everyone’s comfort. So in place of doing my first choice, I decided my spark for the week would be to take a homeless person out to dinner.

What is different than what I normally do is that I would not just buy them food and give it to them (where is the love in that? You can do all kinds of good, humanitarian, beneficial things without love). No, I would take them out to dinner, that means we would share bread and, in the process, lives. We would actually relate. Now in my experience and work, homeless people are most starved of relationship, more than food or clothing or shelter. And it’s this I wanted to give over a meal. I would invite a homeless person in a restaurant (in times past, friends I’ve met on the street don’t want to come into a restaurant due to embarrassment) and we would sit and share our stories. So that’s what I did.

I knew exactly where I was going and who I would take to dinner—this particular man who has an engaging theatrical voice when asking people to buy the DC newspaper that helps the homeless. On my way there, I saw another homeless man begging, and I knew I had to stop. This man’s name is Mike Venables. Mike begs outside the subway stop at my building. I asked him if he wanted to get some food. He said sure. The closest place was Quiznos which he chose. I would later find out he went there a lot. So we went in and we ordered food in line. Mike is a boisterous character and doesn’t worry about politeness when ordering his food, sometimes feeling like the workers cheat him out of enough lettuce, tomatoes, or meat. So Mike always asks for more. I don’t think the workers are supposed to do that, but they did it today as Mike said “Put some more pickles on that. Come on!” It makes me laugh even now.

After we got to the end of the line and our toasted sandwiches were handed to us, I paid and asked Mike if I could join him and have dinner with him. He said sure. He was surprised, but he welcomed it. And we sat down and began to eat and talk. We sat the “man” way, side-by-side on a long bar-table with stools facing the window.

We talked and listened. Well, mostly he talked, and I listened. And most of the conversation was that way. I was trying to engage in a bit of performance art if you’ll allow me to reappropriate the term. You see, Mike and I come from two different backgrounds, socioeconomic levels, regions, and education levels. And in relating to him I was hoping that for an hour we could wash that away as if those differences didn’t exist. But I was very aware while talking that he was a homeless man with very little money and no family and I was a rich man who bought him a meal.

Then something strange happened. Mike had finished telling me about his plight on the streets, and I asked about his family. He spoke about his mother in the hospital. But the strange thing is his response to my question about siblings. He said he had one brother in the DC area. And his brother is a pastor.

“If he’s a pastor I don’t want no part of any of that God stuff.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I see what kind of pastor he is. I seen him when he was in seminary studying to get his degree, all the stuff he was doing with women.”

“Oh, you mean he was doing questionable things?”

“Puuuleeease. That guy ain’t no man of God. If you a man of God, ain’t you supposed to lay hands on men and women?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Then why does he only lay hands on women?” We both laughed.

“Really?”

“I mean, I went to one of his “bible studies,” I was the ONLY man in there!” We both laughed more.

“He has a ministry to the women, and I’ve seen what he does with them. Always trying to show them the power of God and God’s thunder.” Laughing, “I don’t want no part in that.”

It was strange, but that was the first time we had laughed while talking, and when we laughed it was as if the flood gates were opened, the draw bridge lifted, and the temperature relaxed. We laughed and laughed.

“I mean all he wants to show women is the power of God.” We laughed more. “God’s thunder.”

We laughed. And it was in the moment of laughing that I felt us become two men. We actually seemed to float from the restaurant, the two stools, the food. We left the labels given to us by the world and each other. We left it all. And we were just two people sharing a joke.

And then it happened once more in a deeper way. After telling me the story of his brother who doesn’t want to have anything to do with him, he mentioned an ex-wife.

“Yeah, you see I would drive trucks and so I would be on the road a lot going up the east coast. And she was back there in Florida. I guess she got bored or tired or something. But she found another man and cheated on me while I was away trying to help provide.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still upset? When did this happen?”

“This happened last year. But it’s cool. People can do what they want. She’s a grown woman. The strange thing is that she cheated on me with a friend of mine. Out of ALL the guys she could have chosen, she chose my best friend. Now does that make any sense?”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So then you’ve been very angry.”

“Naw, I’m not angry.”

“What? Not even a little bit.”

“Naw, she’s a grown woman. She can do what she wants to do. Why she had to choose my best friend, I don’t know. But she can make her own decisions. We just got a divorce. I wasn’t mad one bit, not one bit, not even once. Why am I gonna be mad at her? What do I have to be mad at her about?”

Now it was in this moment that the conversation took a turn because I had a recent break-up at the time, and not only did I not understand what had happened due to seemingly contradictory messages or inadequate (perhaps only for my brain and mind) explanations, but I had a lot of people accusing me of not doing the right thing or doing the wrong thing. And at the time I had visceral moments of anger which I tempered or eliminated immediately by quickly counting the blessings from the relationship and putting myself in the other person’s shoes. But it would come back again later and I would counteract it again.

What was amazing to me was that this man was claiming he felt no anger and was never upset after someone willingly broke a vow and decided not to hold on to the commitment they had. I wanted to know his secret. The reason the topic changed the conversation is that I was mostly listening or asking questions, and he was happy to talk. But now I wanted to know . . . I wanted to know what he thought or if. . . if he had any advice or . . . help . . . .

“You know I had a recent break up where I was left. . .”

And I told a very short version of some story to say I’ve been there. And he listened. And he shared why he wasn’t mad and I listened, and it was in this moment, we stopped being rich man who buys a meal and poor man who eats it. We were two guys who had similar experiences or feelings of being left. . . .where one was showing how a new way is possible, a way without anger. We were just two brothers sharing life together. And that’s when I learned it is possible to ignore class and levels in a moment. One of my purposes in life is to extend those moments as long as I can with as many people I can starting with the outcast, the marginalized, the minimized, and the oppressed. Thanks, Mike.

UPDATE - January 2011

10 Reasons You Know You’re Serving the Homeless in the United States



10. When serving a plate of food, a homeless man says to you “Would YOU eat that?”

9. When offering food to a homeless, hungry man he says to you “Is it cold? I don’t eat cold food.”

8. When offering salad to a homeless woman, she says “No crunchy pieces. Only salad with no croutons.”

7. When offering salad to a homeless person, he says “I don’t eat salad.”

6. A homeless man looks at the food I’m offering him and says, “Hey, even homeless people have standards! You know what I mean?”

5. A homeless man sees you without a phone and offers you one of his two cell phones.

4. A homeless woman in a soup kitchen turns down your Moroccan chicken soup saying, “No, thanks. I’m a vegetarian.”

3. A homeless person offers you a job.

2. A homeless man pats his tummy and says to you “I’ve decided I need to lose a few pounds.”

1. A homeless man complains about rising prices and backs it up by showing you his energy bills.



UPDATE

All those top ten stories are real by the way. No joke.

Hi, everyone. I’m back. I took a break because I didn’t like some of the responses I received back and needed to take a break from writing. It’s really hard to write about yourself all the time (especially once a week); sometimes you need a break from it. But I’m back.

The biggest item at the moment is next year. I’m in job searching mode as my fellowship will end in August next year (2011). It is possible that I could be hired on, but since that is unknown, I need to go ahead and start looking. I’m not very motivated to do so at the moment.

Last night I had a progressive dinner; they are one of my favorite things. We had a 6-course meal where each course was hosted at a different person’s house. I was the organizers and I offered my house for one host whose house was too far out of the way. I had to plan the route so that you didn’t walk too many blocks between houses. We hosted the progressive dinner for 20 people, and even though people canceled their RSVP they day of the event and new people asked to come the day of the event, even though some left early and some started the route late, it was a good night. I enjoyed meeting all the people I did and hopefully developed some old relationships. I’m working on developing new ones as well.

I haven’t written in 4 months, so I wanted to share that this fall we had an acorn epidemic. I walk a lot in DC, for fun sometimes, too. And I will be walking outside; all of a sudden, I hear a large thud that sounds like someone threw a rock at a car or a squirrel fell. But when I look I don’t see anything. Slowly after seeing this a number of times, I’ve realized it’s acorns, falling acorns. We have the largest acorns I have seen in my life. They are like small boulders. When one falls on you, you wake up the next day. They damage cars. Squirrels consider this part of the country paradise. Rodents play pirates treasure with them. And the candy corn industry booms at Halloween time.

But my favorite part of my day in my daily walks is a walk through a certain part of my neighborhood that has a mix of White and Black and some Latino peoples and Asian dry cleaners whom I love but who fail to get stains out of clothes (I really believe cleaning was supposed to involve water). In this part of my neighborhood there is one house I love. This particular house has a garden in the front and the back. And most times during the day. Though you can’t see the back of the house, you can see in the front that they are growing various vegetables and roots and perhaps herbs and spices. What makes this place lovely is not the actual house itself; it needs help. But the people there are always out and they are always ready to talk with anyone who wants to stop and talk or “shoot the breeze.” It reminds me of what I call the “porch culture.” I love porches (communities with porches) because they foster and cultivate a culture of neighborliness and community in your neighborhood if you let it. People sit on the porches in the cool of the evening or dawn and they talk to their neighbors. And that’s what happens at this house. The man who lives there is a big man, who walks slowly, and has a hole in his trachea from an operation. But his heart is big.

I still haven’t told you why I like this house. What is amazing is that this man takes the vegetables he grows and puts them in boxes on tables at the edge of his yard/garden near the sidewalk. And anyone may take some home! I love this. Few people in my side of the neighborhood understand this, but it’s what I understand about how to live. He sows alone but allows others to reap where they have not sown with no obligations or strings attached or expectations. Take and eat freely. It’s a gift (a true gift is one that you don’t endeavor to pay back). And I love it. It’s also practical; a lot of what he grows would go to waste if he didn’t give it away. And do you know many of the conversations had in his yard outside his house start from people rummaging through the vegetables and food left for people to take--kale, potatoes, cabbage, carrots, etc.

But let me finish. It’s my favorite part of my day (I doesn’t take much, huh? Ha!) even when no one is there talking, even when no food is there to share. It’s my favorite part of my day because in his yard is a toilet. I’m tearing a bit because of the symbolism of it. When facing the yard in front of the house, the toilet is against the right border of his yard, up against a wooden fence, 3 feet high. The toilet base of the toilet is almost hidden in dirt. You can only see the very top part of the base as it reaches and curves toward the site and tank. But not only is there dirt packed around the rooted toilet but inside the toilet there is dirt. The seat is open and spring up from the depths of the toilet bowl are flowers growing in the dirt and soil and muck of the toilet. They are strong flowers, sprightly and eager, reaching to the sun as they reflect its rays in their yellow and orange “carnations.” Their stems are as green as goodness and they grow with no regard for their home or where they started or their environment. But that’s not all. There is also dirt in the tank. It’s lid is missing and out of the tank, more flowers spring forth and grow. For some reason I have hope when I pass it. It doesn’t mean any of my situations will necessarily change. It doesn’t mean that everything I’ve lost recently will be reclaimed right now. But it means there are people that are in the business of reclaiming, redeeming, reusing, and reinventing. And that is the kind of work that inspires and lights. I see these types of moments of lucid clarity and bright illumination all around. And the movement is growing.

It’s art but it’s art of a different kind; it’s living art. It reminds me of the ancient Jewish prophet who prophetically (and I still wait to this day) spoke of a day when we would “beat swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks,.” It reminds me that I’ve got muck in my life and some mistakes whose effects I still feel, but it can be made recreated. The toilet doesn’t go away, but it’s reinvented and new life can be born. This life is different than I imagined, but it’s new. It’s new, and it’s life.