<em>“You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”</em> When I hear these familiar lines, I’m drawn to the second-half of the equation. Let’s talk about the dancing and this joy-filled clothing. <em>“You brought me up from the grave, you spared me from going down into the pit.”</em> Rescue and new life—excellent! I’ll avoid even acknowledging that the pit is there…thank you very much. Let’s stick with the new life, the joy and the springtime states. They’re pretty, new and shining, light and fluffy.

But look outside for a moment.  Fall is upon us. Look outside. The leaves are dying and falling to the ground, the plants are curling up and drawing in. Things are rotting, decomposing, returning, dying. The cycle of the seasons around us reminds us… Surrender comes before growth. Cycles and seasons are part of the journey. The pathway to life is through death. Death to our self, to our agendas, to our need to control. Birth to the idea that God is God and we are not.  Nature displays in front of us, that part of spiritual life is the process of being emptied out. There are internal parts of us that need to die, in order for the Divine Life to flow through more freely.

Or another way of framing it:<strong> You are a pumpkin.</strong>

A pumpkin, filled with the seeds and muck, mixed with hope and new possibility, and baggage and old stories. Terrified of the pain of carving, while yearning to shine brightly.  <em>You are a pumpkin</em>. A pumpkin in the hands of the Carver. Anticipating the scooping out, to make space for the light.

Stephanie Eden, a friend and brilliant singer/songwriter paints it this way:
She says: <em>These are the lyrics to a song I wrote this past October while carving pumpkins with my children.  It is inspired by a sermon given by Pastor Jonathan Rose a number of years ago on the process of being emptied out, and it’s titled: </em>Hollow Me

<strong>Hollow Me</strong>
By Stephanie Eden

<em>One October a pumpkin grew</em>
<em>Full of seeds and thoughts</em>
<em>She said I don’t wanna be one of those</em>
<em>That sits around and rots</em>
<em>Pick me now cause I wanna be</em>
<em>Like other pumpkins I’ve seen</em>
<em>With a picture and a warming light</em>
<em>For the kids on Halloween</em>
<em>But the other pumpkins warned her</em>
<em>It’s a process you can’t handle</em>
<em>Being scraped and carved right to the flesh</em>
<em>Till you’re cleaned out for a candle</em>

<em>Hollow me hollow me hollow me</em>
<em>And make me shine</em>
<em>Make me shine</em>

<em>The pumpkin she was determined</em>
<em>Her fate was in decoration</em>
<em>But with the first stab of the knife she thought</em>
<em>Time for reconsideration</em>
<em>They were right she thought I’d be better off</em>
<em>As a pie or on the vine</em>
<em>Why wasn’t I satisfied as a big orange squash</em>
<em>Why did I want to shine?</em>
<em>But the carvers hands were gentle</em>
<em>And she could sense the jubilation</em>
<em>As he held her and he made his plans</em>
<em>In great anticipation</em>

<em>Hollow me hollow me hollow me</em>
<em>and make me shine</em>
<em>make me shine</em>

<em>As he began to scrape inside she found</em>
<em>To her seeds she was attached</em>
<em>She was afraid without all her junk inside</em>
<em>She’d be more likely to get smashed</em>
<em>But she noticed too a feeling</em>
<em>Of freedom as she was emptied</em>
<em>All the space and possibilities</em>
<em>Like holding light instead of seeds</em>
<em>Though she never had felt pain</em>
<em>As a pumpkin on the vine</em>
<em>The pain could not come close to how</em>
<em>Good it felt to shine</em>

<em>Hollow me hollow me hollow me</em>
<em>and make me shine</em>
<em>follow me follow me follow</em>
<em>if you wanna shine</em>
<em>make me shine</em>

You are a pumpkin.  You have a choice. Each of one of us have a choice. We can stay on the vine. Comfortable and secure, yes, but in the end, probably just a waste, rotting away.  You have a choice. Each one of us have a choice. We have a choice to allow, or in moments of bravery and insanity, even <strong>invite</strong> the Carver to take out the knife and begin to hollow. To open up to the emptying out that Christ calls us to, and that Christ walked. Welcome and invite brokenness and being emptied out? Careful what you wish for…but Christ did. Or at a minimum, Christ boldly and deeply accepted this path, wrestled with it and brought new life from it. Christ rose again.

I think that in our culture we often like to try to put a little more space between these polarities—to separate the dying from the rising again. We put space between the scooping out of the insides of the pumpkin to the brightly shining jack-o-lantern. We want to create distance from re-birth to the death. We can be drawn to only focus on the newness of life, spring, flowers, shining lights twinkling from the pumpkins. These are all lovely things to focus on, but I believe that in separating the pieces of the cycle, death and life, light and dark, springtime and fall, we can lose the profound message for each of us in our spiritual paths.

Swedenborgian theology, my faith background, talks about the process that Jesus went through throughout his life, culminating with death on the cross.

It outlines this process into two states: One, being emptied out and
two glorification or resurrection, new life.
A passage from Swedenborgian theology states:

<em>“The reason why Christ experienced these two states, the state of being emptied out and the state of being glorified, is that no other method of achieving union could possibly exist.  This method follows the divine design.</em>

<em>The divine design is that we arrange ourselves for receiving God and prepare ourselves as a vessel and dwelling place where God can enter and live as if we were God’s own temple. We have to do this preparation by ourselves, yet we have to acknowledge that the preparation comes from God. This acknowledgment is needed because we do not feel the presence or the actions of God, even though God is in fact intimately present and brings about every good love and every true belief we have. This is the divine design we follow to go from being earthly to being spiritual.”</em>  True Christianity 105, Emanuel Swedenborg

In order for God to flow through us, the vessel needs to continue to be cleaned out and cleared out. The shining of our light requires being emptied out, being carved, being formed. We can probably all probably pretty quickly think of a time in our lives or an area of our personal and spiritual growth where we have felt the carving, the cutting, the spiritual surgery, the scooping of the goop. Maybe when we lost a loved one, or transitioned jobs. It came upon us when we came up against challenges in relationships, experienced a health crisis, a spiritual crisis. We wrestle when we encounter doubt, struggle in the day-to-day work.

This is the work. To be emptied out and to be filled up. The emptying is painful. And powerful. It’s part of the design. It’s part of the cycle. The seasons.

<em>But the other pumpkins warned her
</em><em>It’s a process you can’t handle
</em><em>Being scraped and carved right to the flesh
</em><em>Till you’re cleaned out for a candle</em>

<em>Hollow me hollow me hollow me
</em><em>And make me shine
</em><em>Make me shine</em>

This link between the suffering, pain and death and the new life, resurrection and hope is one of the cruxes of the human experience. Recently I’ve been reading a number of memoirs and autobiographies and I’ve been struck by this theme. I’m touched by the honesty and vulnerability that is brought forth in these human stories and it leads me to reflect on and wonder about my own story.  If I was writing my life auto-biography, would I have the guts to lay out this level of honesty? To expose my seeds and goopy insides to others?

Sure, it’s easy to be open about the mountaintop moments and the ah-ha’s in our spiritual life. The challenge is, do we share about the places where we are broken, where we’re being emptied out, the times when we wondered about this whole “God thing”, the days when we continued to make the same mistakes, listen to the same old stories and live in ways that were far less than saintly. It’s this that sticks with me and challenges me.

<em>The pumpkin she was determined
</em><em>Her fate was in decoration
</em><em>But with the first stab of the knife she thought
</em><em>Time for reconsideration</em><em> </em>

<em>They were right she thought I’d be better off
</em><em>As a pie or on the vine
</em><em>Why wasn’t I satisfied as a big orange squash
</em><em>Why did I want to shine?</em>

A few weeks ago, in worship, a colleague offered his vulnerability to the group and invited us into the story of Jesus’ healing the man with the withered hand in the gospels.  He pointed out that before the man was healed, Jesus asked him to stand up before everyone and reach out his hand, and show his vulnerabilities.  My whole body tensed as he recounted the text, just imagining God calling me to stand up and articulate my brokenness, my wounds, my scars to the people around me. So much of me resists this, and yet, somewhere inside I feel the wisdom. Not to spew my life history at every turn as if spiritual community is one big therapy session. But to, in those moments of sacredness, present with God and human community, to be strong and courageous and reach out to the Healer in the presence of others. To acknowledge that part of the process of spiritual life IS the emptying out, that that is intrinsic in the process of shining. The call, the challenged, is to look honestly in ourselves and see what is blocking the Divine Light from shining through. What are the places in us that are stuck and stagnant? Where do we need to look a little deeper and see how our places of challenge and struggle can be transformed into wisdom and strength by the Great Carver? Or as Rumi puts it: “Where there is ruin, there is hope for treasure”

I wonder if that’s what these authors did, in sharing their stories.  Is this part of the spiritual process of Anne Lamott, John Woolman, Roberta Bondi, Thomas Merton, Pema Chodron, Dorothy Day and so many others who share their life stories, their spiritual journeys, in the pages of autobiographies, memoirs, blogs and journals.  In the written word they walk through the suffering, line by line, in snapshots and in full-color. The dialog of the challenges, the pain and doubt lead to places of transformation. In these lives laid before us, a sacred offering to the larger community of faith, we can see God at work.  We can see God working through the life of a brilliant, addicted, depressed writer as she bares a child, finds God in a new way and steps into a daring journey of discovering faith. We can see God in the workings of at early church leader, as we see Christ’s light shining through division and mis-understanding, in leading and being silent.

Be it through the written word, honest preaching, held conversation, or solitary prayer, we can feel Spirit beckoning. Beckoning us to surrender to the Carving. Urging us to bravely look inside and examine and begin to let go of the things that are blocking the Light. Bravely inviting the Carver to hollow us, cleanse us, and shine Divine Light through us.

Because this healing is not just for each of us. This call to vulnerability is not about me or you. There is a greater call to healing through our brokenness, restoration through our vulnerabilities, resurrection through inner-death. This challenge to dig into our muck and guck and be cleared out is not simply a personal exercise. There is a world of brokenness, there is a God of Healing. As we walk through this process individually, we can be part of changing the collective. As the Light shines more and more brightly through each one of us, the Light in the world strengthens and spreads, widens and enlivens. The baptism of spirit offers all new life, cleansing and hope, each and every day. As we die to our own ideas of how life should be, as we loosen our grip that clings to the past and the future, as we release our needs to be in control and have it all together…God seeps in, rushes in, moves in our midst. Moves to bring healing to the all.

<em> </em><em>Though she never had felt pain
</em><em>As a pumpkin on the vine
</em><em>The pain could not come close to how
</em><em>Good it felt to shine</em><em> </em>

<em>Hollow me hollow me hollow me
</em><em>and make me shine
</em><em>follow me follow me follow
</em><em>if you wanna shine
</em><em>make me shine</em>