A reflection on awakening to the spiritual path through crisis

During a briefing this morning, on the latest of tragically many political assassinations and assassination attempts, the governor of Utah asked the open question: “Are we at a watershed moment?”

The governor responded to himself, saying it could be “the start of improvement and leaving darker times, or it could be the beginning of going into even darker times.”

You could taste the empathy, the sadness, and the distress in his voice, and, to a certain extent, the leadership in his voice. He was clearly implying the need for civil discourse.

This need has never been greater, and it reminded me of when we were young parents—we had two kindergarteners/first graders. Our first and second children are only 11 months apart, so this puts them in the category of Irish twins. On the rare occasion that they caused trouble (humor intended), they would immediately blame the other for whatever had occurred, whether this was an argument about who started it or perhaps something that was broken that they “didn’t do.”

My wife and I had an interesting strategy. We would say, “OK, well, we can’t find out the truth here, so let’s have you find it out.” These issues often occurred before supper for some reason.

So we sent them both into the smallest bathroom in the house with instructions: “You guys go stay in the bathroom until you figure out what is really the truth and who’s to blame and try and reconcile with each other.” Of course, they didn’t know what “reconcile with each other” meant. “Work it out” or “be nice to each other”—I guess those were the words that we used.

So then they went to the bathroom, and we proceeded to listen to what probably would be a good skit in any television sitcom. It usually started with the arm-folding exercise of deadly silence, followed by the “It’s your fault!” “No, it’s your fault!” exchange, which got louder and louder. That also usually ended up with some silence, and then they would start to pick apart the facts of the matter—whatever they were, where someone was, why “I couldn’t have done it,” why “you did it”—sort of like an investigation with the prosecution and defense alternating roles. Some of the funniest conversations would occur here.

Eventually, they would come to the conclusion that “Well, it could have been one of the others—it could have been their younger brother that did it—but now they were going to get the blame for it, and we’re never going to get out of the bathroom.”

After a while we would stop listening outside the bathroom. The sessions didn’t really last that long, but they probably seemed like an eternity to the children—perhaps 10 minutes, perhaps 15; long enough to be able to calm down, realize that they’re in this together (even if it’s just being in the dock together), and figure out what they needed to do to get out.

Now, we’ll never know as parents how many of the stories that emerged out of those results were the truth, the admission of guilt, or whatever. But what it did was help them to reconcile with each other, and it also helped us avoid issuing immediate punishment, at least, not complete injustice, when you’re at the end of your rope as a parent.

I tell this story not because it’s a model for anything in particular as far as parenting goes. Modern psychologists would probably analyze this and explain why this is bad on so many different levels. But I don’t think the kids actually took it that seriously in the end, and some of them even use it with their children now, which they feel bad about. It might be one of those unfortunate hand-me-downs that sometimes happen in families.

Nevertheless, I can’t help but think about this situation that we are in right now in our country, where we have sort of got the opposite of all of this. What we’ve created are separate virtual and physical gymnasiums—giant ones—depending on which side of the argument you’re on, instead of having one assembly hall or gymnasium or gathering space at a high school where people can interact, discuss, and share what’s going on.

One group goes in there, and then they can shout without repercussions, without any pushback, to a global audience or a small audience—whatever they want to say about someone on the other side. And for the most part, the people in these two gymnasiums are not listening to each other. They’re just shouting at each other, but the ones that are doing the shouting are reinforcing the next person shouting. And guess what? Every time someone shouts, the louder you shout, the meaner you shout, the more someone else gets paid for it—maybe even yourself.

This is what has happened: we have lost the ability to dialogue. And I’m not sure that what happened in the bathroom all those years ago in our children’s childhood was what would be considered dialogue, but they were talking to each other. They were discussing something that was contentious to them, at least in their little worlds at that time. And it had a repercussion; a repercussion on how they turned out, how they learned to debate, how they learned to reconcile, how they learned to listen to others.

I’m on the brink of publishing a new book. It’s called Practice of Sacred Noticing, and sacred noticing is a simple mechanism for some of the things that we do when we really want to interact with other humans well. We notice them. We listen to what they’re saying. We absorb what they’re saying. We then wait to let that settles; like ripples in the pond. What does that mean? What should I do? How should I respond? All before we respond. And then the third step is just responding: So we Notice, pause, respond.

This is not rocket science, but it’s something that we need right now.

We also need a break. People are building their own lifeboats. They’re trying to find a way to insulate the ones they love from all that’s going on in the world. They don’t want to engage in a shouting match or, worse still, a shooting match, as it appears to be turning into.

We have to decide what the environment is that we want in our own homes, just as we do in our towns, just as we do in our states, just as we do in our country.

One option is to shut down the gymnasiums. The people collecting the money in the gymnasiums can only do so if we keep shouting. Not that everything that goes on in these two particular gymnasiums is shouting, but taking a break will help us—and it won’t help those who are trying to get rich from all the shouting.

The lifeboat

There she sits …

And what a beauty

Designed to survive any gale

Weather and stormy sea sealed

As if I were a whale

Taking care of all my Jonahs

Someone asked me today

“What’s it for?”

“In case of storms”

And they asked “are you going out to sea?”

And I could not answer

It’s ready, though

My lifeboat

Big enough to hold family

And no others

Because love one’s count

And if it comes …

The big storm that is

I am ready

And have done my duty

To protect myself and a few loved ones

And forget about the others

Who are near or far

Because a lifeboat is for me to live

And survive

For a little while

Reflection, poem and image Copyright 2025 Michael J. Cunningham OFS