Progressively letting go

When a fishing boat leaves the harbor, it’s guided by buoys that mark the channel. These are a huge help in keeping the vessel from running aground. But the boats can’t tie up to those buoys and get to their destination. They have to keep going out into the ocean depths in order to catch fish.  

Similarly, we have helpful landmarks of God’s care for us as we explore our way out into the depths of Spirit. It is natural for us to have satisfying employment, loving companionship, and a comfortable place to call home. But none of these evidences of good in our lives are our actual goals. They can be helpful guideposts, but if we anchor to them, we are limiting our acceptance and experience of the spiritual good they represent.

Interestingly, the more we let go of attributing the goodness we have to the forms it takes in our experience, the more securely and abundantly we see good expressed in our lives. By seeing that its real origin is in God, we become aware that the source of good is infinite and its substance is wholly spiritual. Then we never lose anything real, but instead lose the limited sense of it. It’s kind of like trading in a beautiful photograph of the ocean for the ocean itself.

But it can be tempting to become so fixed on the manifestation of good as a person, place, or thing, that we unwittingly anchor to it—instead of to God. It’s actually the things of Spirit that are solid and dependable, while material objects are fleeting by their very nature. Divine Love has a wonderful way of weaning us from these symbols, and guiding us to more dependable and indestructible spiritual concepts.

I had an experience of such weaning while reading the Manual of The Mother Church. Its author, Mary Baker Eddy, said, “Of this I am sure, that each Rule and By-law in this Manual will increase the spirituality of him who obeys it, invigorate his capacity to heal the sick, to comfort such as mourn, and to awaken the sinner” (The First Church of Christ, Scientist, and Miscellany, p. 230). 

Some of the By-Laws require deep prayer and listening to find their relevance in our lives, as was the case for me with this one on pages 60–61: “No large gathering of people nor display shall be allowed when laying the Corner Stone of a Church of Christ, Scientist. Let the ceremony be devout. No special trowel should be used. (See Science and Health, page 140.)” On one hand, this could seem dated and narrow in its meaning. But when I followed that instruction to look at page 140 in the Christian Science textbook, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mrs. Eddy, I read, “We worship spiritually, only as we cease to worship materially.” I began to ask myself, “Do I have any ‘special trowels’? Is there anything that I need to cease worshiping materially?”  

I gently began letting go of worshiping this geographical place as I cherished the fact of home and heaven as a state of consciousness that was everywhere present.

Instantly I remembered a conversation I’d had with my husband about the possibility of our ever moving from our present home. The property was the acquisition of a lifelong dream to live near a body of water, but it had lots of infrastructure to maintain, and tied up all of our assets. Nevertheless, I told him I would never leave it. It was clear to me that I had come to worship this place instead of cherishing the spiritual idea of home. When I turned to a loved hymn to be reminded of this spiritual idea, the words of the first verse said it all:

I gently began letting go of worshiping this geographical place as I cherished the fact of home and heaven as a state of divine consciousness that was everywhere present. I became willing and open to new possibilities that might simplify and better support our needs. Within the next year we discovered a condominium near the ocean that had more usable space and required much less maintenance. The transition went smoothly with no looking back! 

I feel this weaning process is beautifully illustrated in the Bible, in the story of the prophet Elijah (see I Kings 17). With the onset of a famine in his land as the result of a drought, Elijah was at first directed by God to dwell by a brook that would supply him with water, and ravens would bring him meat there. Now that is an unlikely source of food if ever there was one, and yet Elijah had so learned to trust God as the source of all good that he was obedient and went to the brook, and what occurred was as promised. 

Then the water dried up, but God told Elijah what to do next. This time, he was directed to go to a widow in Zarephath. This was also a very unlikely means of supply, because in Bible times a widow was generally one of the most dependent people in society. When Elijah got there, he found her gathering sticks to make a fire so she could cook for herself and her son with the last remaining oil and meal she had. Elijah told her to make bread for him first, and then to cook for herself and her son, and he voiced God’s promise that their oil and meal would not be depleted before the rains came again. She trustingly did this, and they were sustained just as they had been told.

It’s as though Elijah was being led to see more and more clearly that God’s spiritual idea of abundance was the true supply behind these evidences of provision. As he followed God’s guidance, the human need was met in a way that blessed him, the woman, and her son. This proved that the real, infinite, inexhaustible source of all good is God. Elijah was being led out into the depths of Spirit.  

I’ve found that as we anchor to the spiritual ideas of God, there’s never a gap between these spiritual facts and their useful demonstration. We feel a deeper gratitude for every such evidence of goodness in our experience without clinging to its particular form. We feel a greater trust in the fluidity with which God’s provision is manifested to meet our needs to the maximum of usefulness, even as we are outgrowing the belief that we need anything but God. 

Mrs. Eddy explains, “In our immature sense of spiritual things, let us say of the beauties of the sensuous universe: ‘I love your promise; and shall know, some time, the spiritual reality and substance of form, light, and color, of what I now through you discern dimly; and knowing this, I shall be satisfied. . . .’ ” (Miscellaneous Writings 1883–1896, p. 87).

We will all be helped along to see the glory and grandeur of immortal Mind, and we can fearlessly, willingly, progressively let go of any other trusts. Remember, we can never lose anything good in our experience—we can only lose a limited sense of it.