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By Elizabeth O’Connor
Today in an early morning dream I was addressed by a voice. It asked, “What are you doing?” and I answered, “I am hulling my heart.”
The voice asked, “Why?” and I answered, “I have need of a hulled heart.”
I awoke, as I have so often this year, knowing that in my sleep I was at work on my life, convinced that if I dug in its soil long enough, deep enough, it would yield me a liberating truth. Is that truth in the metaphor ‘hulled heart’?
I think only of pulling off the green leaves of strawberries that the fruit may be eaten. But hulling means more than that. We strip corn and peas of husks and pods to reach the inner fruit. What are the hard, protective casings around my heart that must be stripped away to reach the hidden grain? What must I give up to lie all bare and exposed like peas in a pod or corn on a cob? What are the wrappings that keep the essence of my life from becoming bread for the world?
“This is my body broken for you. Eat you all of it.”
All this year, old occupations have not had the same meaning. They are husks that wrap me too tight around. I want to throw them off in one grand gesture, but I am afraid of falling into the ground and dying.
I am afraid of discarding the threadbare garments I huddle in for fear that I will stand cold and shivering in the dark, waiting for an angel that may not come. Nevertheless I am haunted by the biblical fact that it was the people who sat in darkness who saw a great light.
Today I went through a deteriorating building near the Potter’s House that had the possibility of being converted into a resident care center for older persons. We have no money for this purpose. Other missions are engaged in significant fund-raising programs. Another effort for still another project might be foolish to consider. I mentioned this to Gordon Cosby, but he was not in the least concerned. He never feels that any one of our projects vies with any other for either money or people, though from time to time I have that nagging thought, ill-founded as it may be.
The unhampered proliferation of missions in this community would not have been possible without the encouragement and care of this man. To be sure, the new always attracts life and generates an excitement that stirs envy, but that is no reason to be afraid. Our experience overwhelmingly indicates that the missions enhance one another rather than compete with one another.
A Darwinian view of life makes us feel threatened by developing people and projects and nations. This view may have its place, but it is quite apart from a more spiritual understanding which sees each person and center of life as an integral part of the whole and without which any mission would be incomplete. If my artist friend never discovers he is an artist, then I will never have his paintings—only his discontent. But that can be the head’s reasoning alone. The dread of loss in me is rooted in another place and listens to other voices.
From past experience I know that when I begin investing myself in a dream or in a life, the commitment grows. Where I put my energies and my treasure, my reluctant heart sometimes follows. If any of us had to be fully committed when starting out, very little would ever be begun. It would be like having to decide to marry on the first meeting. What we have to do is to take one step and, if it seems good, take another.
The building is in such a state of deterioration that it would have to be completely gutted to be made habitable by anyone. I should not say this because the fact is that the roach- and rat-infested rooms gave evidence that street people are living there now. At the end of the tour our adviser in real estate matters suggested that I put my vision in writing on one page so that he could have the building appraised by architects. When I took care to say that I was not fully committed to the project he seemed unconcerned. To have this knowledgeable man take time from his work in the middle of the day to test the reality of a dream gave me a singing feeling.
Many things happen in the communities of The Church of the Saviour because there are people around who do not think large undertakings are beyond the accomplishment of ordinary people. “If it were impossible,” said Gordon, “you would not be able to envision it.” If he is right, that would be a very great truth to take root. I have tried since to envision something that would be impossible, and I have thought of nothing.
Elizabeth O’Connor, before her death in 1998, was the primary author of The Church of the Saviour story. These words are from her book Cry Pain, Cry Hope, available from the Potter’s House Bookservice. Today, the dream she writes of here is realized in Sarah’s Circle.
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Scott Bartchy is a radical. He believes in a subversive system that embraces those on the fringes of our society and seeks to establish a new way of life that goes against the status quo.