Steep.
Dear brothers and sisters, I pray God may open your eyes and let you see what hidden treasures he bestows on us in the trials from which the world thinks only to flee.
~ St. John of the Cross
Tis the season of outdoor concerts and food trucks and family picnics. Summertime just feels right for writing on music, film, and cultural art. My confession is that I too was swept up in the feeding frenzy over Ted Lasso from the series’ start; he’s just such a refreshing character. So of course, I jumped on the new season immediately.
It was my friend Mary Ellen at the Kinward Center who brought Ted’s tepid relationship with English tea to fresh light when she suggested we consider what it means to be spiritually “steeped.” That imagery has stayed with me, and I’d like to explore it a bit here today. I am not a big tea drinker myself, so be gentle with my play on the metaphor.
Both tea and my more native coffee are natural-grown products whose exquisite flavors can only be released in the oils that rise from immersion in heat. Pretty serious heat, actually. Without that catalyst, tea offers pleasant aromas but nothing for the palate. It’s magic is locked away.
Spiritual steeping, eh?
It’s not a leap to envision the steeping process as our lives being immersed in circumstantial heat. Biblical references are fond of “refining fires” and “crucibles.” Compared to that, steeping sounds more like a hot tub… but of course, in real life it’s not pleasant at all. Steeping feels like disappointment or frustration, like loss or shame. Bottom line, it feels like suffering. And we want it to stop now.
So is it trite to talk about these moments of being on the hot seat as redemptive? Is that just flannel boards and finger puppets? God, I hope not.
Seriously, pain is unavoidable. It’s woven into the fabric of our lives, no exceptions. No free passes. No passing GO and collecting $200! So if it’s part of the human experience, then it’s ridiculous to try to “pray it away.” Moreover, if such impediments to our path are even remotely redemptive, we would be foolish to pray them away, even if we could.
I have come to believe that hardship and losses are only conditionally redemptive. Here’s what I mean: Suffering does not automatically improve us. When we resist it, complain about it, feel unjustly dumped on—nothing transforms; it just sucks. And honestly, I’ve done that routine plenty of times. Here’s a bit more on the magic of tea…
Apparently, every different kind of tea takes a different temperature and length of time to bring forward its true potential. Take a look.
So how hot does it need to be before I yield myself to the hand of Mercy… and release the oils and fragrance of the Spirit when I’m hurting? Can I trust the Lover of my soul to gently and kindly bring forth something of beauty out of me under fire? Can I find comfort and meaning in seasons of uncertainty or fear or even attack? Most poignantly, can I trust the divine Tea Barista to not leave me in the heat any longer than necessary and so let the “tea” turn bitter? Just long enough for something savory and sweet.
I don’t want to glorify suffering, but since it’s inevitable, I am motivated to find meaning in it. (Meaning-making is actually my personal core value, which is why I write.) What do you think? Does the metaphor hold up? Would Ted be proud?
finding our way home
How do you find hope and perseverance when things are rough? I’d like to know…
takeaway
Surrender to the heat.