Dave Brisbin 2.16.25
Life is big, loud, in your face. 

Like an over-the-top extravert, life can suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving little energy or attention for anything else. And against life’s overwhelming physical realities—whether personal or political, socio-economic or relational—the spiritual can seem like a whisper we’re not even sure we heard…naïve, even irrelevant to our most pressing needs. 

I understand why spiritual leaders often change lanes into the socio-political, big macro issues. It’s like getting off the sidelines and into the game, something solid to grasp, a side to take, a cause to champion…all driven by the legitimate belief that spirituality is only as authentic as it is present in all our physical relationships—personal and communal.

It’s a chicken and egg thing. 

Which comes first, spiritual formation or the championing of causes? Of course, they work hand in glove, but because life is pulling relentlessly to the physical, we need to act as our own counterweight, pulling back toward the spiritual. Not because spiritual awareness is better, “righter” than our physical lives, but because spiritual awareness is underrepresented in daily life and needs special attention. Spiritual formation builds the awareness of who we really are: not individual entities, but part of the whole of everything that is, including each other in all our diversity and disagreement. And when this awareness of oneness is informing our choices, it changes the way we approach the championing of our causes.

We can’t separate our spirituality from our physicality. Each is lived out in the presence of the other, defined in the context of the other. And neither is more important than the other as long we’re breathing here. Human life is a balancing act. Each of us needs dreams, plans, and the hard work of accomplishing them—the “not yet” side of the equation. But if we’ve not mastered the ability to live that work with a sense of grateful completion right now, to balance now and not yet, if we confuse our work with the spirituality that propels us to it, we remain billboards for the human problem. 

Not a solution.

Balancing Act

The Purpose of Life

Dave Brisbin 2.23.25
Do people really change? 

Seems maddingly rare, especially the older we get—the way is narrow and gate constricted—but it does happen. Why are some of us able to make fundamental, personal change, beat the odds that imprison the rest of us?

Joseph Campbell introduced the monomyth, the hero’s journey, the one plotline we use over and over in all forms: stories, poems, songs, movies. This universal story of transformation follows the three-part structure of a classic rite of passage. First, separation from the life and world we know, often forcefully through a wounding or traumatic event. Second, risky transition through an unknown and dangerous landscape where something is required of us before we can return home. And third, reincorporation back where we started, changed by the experience with a new role to play and ability to match. 

Transformation stories are faithfully retold in all media, but especially in the case of movies, can be deceiving as they neatly wrap in two hours. We know life is messier, that one journey is not enough, not the end of the story. But even movies are relevant, distilling patterns of meaning that can make the difference between being a hero in our own story or not. If we’re paying attention, stories make us aware of these patterns in daily life, begin to see that fundamental change isn’t the result of grand adventure, but of pushing through resistance to change with small, simple choices that start a domino effect leading us to grand adventure. 

Stories help us see that if we want fundamental change, we can intentionally work backward through the chain of events that leads to our goal until we arrive right where we’re standing, having now identified the beginning of the journey…a small choice we can make, a step we can actually take.

Can we begin to see in each moment, in our smallest decisions, the seeds of adventure? The whole of life in one uncertain step? Make friends with uncertainty as the engine of change? Say yes more than no and love the dead ends of our choices as much as the fruitful branches?

If we can, we can change. Beat the odds. 
And that is the purpose of life.

Dave Brisbin 3.9.25
Years ago, at the lowest point in my life, a friend invited me to her church, marking a return to Christianity after fifteen years away. First thing, I booked a lunch with the pastor, and halfway through, across my untouched plate, he said he saw “divine dissatisfaction” in me. Strange phrase. I didn’t see anything divine in my dissatisfaction or speed-questions, but then, there I was. Asking a pastor.

Years later, I looked it up. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know he was quoting a dancer. He was much more a football quoter. But Martha Graham said that artists have a divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest, that keeps them marching and more alive than others. Pastor saw that unrest in me. Though it didn’t feel divine or blessed, it certainly was motivating. Kept me marching, desiring, seeking, doubting. I doubted everything I’d ever been taught about spiritual life, which only made me desire it more.

Remember Doubting Thomas?

When the rest of the Twelve of Jesus’ inner circle said they had seen Jesus risen and alive, Thomas says he would not believe until he literally put his hands in Jesus’ wounds. That one line has made Thomas a meme for faithlessness for two thousand years and counting. But is that fair? Every one of Jesus’ friends doubted. None of them recognized him when they first saw him again, their doubting minds filtering out the possibility of the impossible until they had a personal experience that broke them through to new reality. Thomas was the only one honest about his doubt, bold enough to state it, and we’ve punished him for it.

All Thomas said was that he was dissatisfied with a second-hand report, hearsay. That only a personal experience could break him through to trust the impossible. Thomas is our hero, showing us doubt as a gift. It stokes us with the dissatisfaction we need to admit that even the Bible is a second-hand report. It points us toward our own personal experience, but it’s not the experience itself.

This Lent, can we see our doubt and dissatisfaction not as weakness, but a gift…a divine call past hearsay to a personal experience of the new life Easter represents?

The Gift of Doubt

Dave Brisbin 3.16.25
Mid-century dancer Martha Graham said that no artist is ever satisfied with their work at any time. That there is a strange, “divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest” that keeps them marching and more alive than others. This is a blueprint for excellence and recipe for disaster depending on whether a balance can be maintained. We’ve been applying this blueprint to our spiritual lives, and balance is no less critical there.

The power in Graham’s statement lies in the paradox of living positively in a state of dissatisfaction and unrest. Far from blessed, we see those states as negative, and if we think of dissatisfaction as discontentment with our current circumstance, they are. But looking at dissatisfaction as the opposite of complacency—being so satisfied with our own abilities and situation that we see no need for improvement or possibility of growth—opens a door.

In spiritual terms, there is always more in heaven and earth than we can hold at any moment. Like drinking from a fire hydrant, we are aware of the flow, but our mouths can only hold so much. We see how much is getting past us, yet we’re not thirsty. Each moment is just enough; filled right to the brim, no more or less. But if we’ve avoided complacency, we can use our dissatisfaction, the awareness of the flow, to stoke our desire to grow and be able to hold more of that flow in the next moment, which will also be just enough.

Always a delicate balance. So easy for divine desire and anticipation to slide into obsession, where powerfully intrusive thoughts create distress that require compulsion, repetitive physical and mental behavior, to relieve the distress. But like compulsive hand washing over an obsession with germs—it’s never enough.

Every one of us needs dreams and goals, desire and hope, something to plan and work toward. Without a striving for excellence, human life loses the sense of meaning and purpose that makes life worth living. But if dreams become obsessive and work compulsive enough that we never experience our moments as enough, dissatisfaction is no longer divine. Merely discontented. Keeps us marching, but less alive.

Marching and More Alive

Dave Brisbin 3.23.25
Remember taking math tests in school? Remember how you had to show your work? Remember how you hated that? Wasn’t enough to get the answer, you had to show how you got to the answer. Yes, a right answer, or at least a functional one, is important. But showing your work signaled that you grasped underlying principles that would give you repeatable results, a platform on which to build. 

Mathematics understands that the how is at least as important as the what. That any answer is only valid within the context of the process of the solution. How we do what we do defines us and our work. 

In scripture, this process is symbolized by the number forty—a time of trial and testing leading to spiritual rebirth, the necessary work of transformation that just takes time. After Jesus’ baptism, he sees the spirit of God and hears God’s voice. A divine download if there ever was one. Yet he is immediately impelled into the wilderness for forty days to face his wild beasts. After the Damascus road vision, Paul spends fourteen years in Arabia for his forty. Elijah after Mount Carmel, the Israelites after the Red Sea crossing, Jacob after the dream of his ladder, the disciples after the resurrection…all faced fortyness after their downloads. But why? Shouldn’t a direct download from God be enough?

We can be converted in an instant. Accept a premise, have an emotional response to a mystical encounter, a view of heaven—life seen through God’s eyes—a breaking through the mind’s illusion of separateness to the realization that everything is one thing, that we are never separated or alone. Problem is, we’re still living here on earth. Gravity still rules, and that gravity-defying vision creates a nagging paradox we compulsively want to resolve. But life doesn’t resolve, and learning to fit God-reality into the too-small details of human life takes time. Forty.

However intense, any download is only momentary. Will not last unless we wrestle with the paradox long enough to assimilate, push into muscle memory a single view of two ever-oscillating realities: heaven and earth. There is no other way. 

We have to show our work.

Showing Our Work

Dave Brisbin 3.30.25
Burning bush is our cultural meme, idiom for a peak experience, a vision of God or from God. But for all its power, one burning bush is not enough. Standing on holy ground in front of the original burning bush, Moses argued with God, doubted God’s word right there, and for the rest of his life, oscillated between boldness and doubt. Just like any human. But how in the world is a burning bush not enough for permanent transformation? How could that not change us without a doubt?

A burning bush, a moment when ultimate reality breaks through the veil between heaven and earth, is a glimpse of life through God’s eyes—everything connected, everything literally one substance. The human view of individual form and function falls away. Seventeen years into his monastic experience, trying to find holiness through cloistered separation from secular life, Thomas Merton had an experience in downtown Louisville at the corner of 4th and Walnut. In the middle of the busy shopping district, he was “suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that he loved all those people…that the whole illusion of a separate holy existence is a dream…”

I have friends who have described similar experiences. I’ve had my own, and we’ve all seen burning bushes of varying intensity at times of great love and great loss. They don’t last because they present a paradox, and our minds, ever dualistic, see every paradox as a threat to certainty, convert it to a contradiction, then choose a side to relieve the tension. But that tension is the whole point. Wrestling to fit a too-big God view into the too-small human experience of daily life keeps the vision alive while keeping us grounded in our daily activities.

We need burning bushes as ballast for our sacred tension, but they are rare, come unbidden. We can’t create them or control them, but we can become increasingly aware when they are happening while working to create the perfect environment in our hearts for them to occur. Ride the sacred tension, living each day as the possibility of another surprise, another burning bush moment of seeing life through God’s eyes. Always new, alive, one.

Burning Bushes

Dave Brisbin 4.6.25
Just when you think the world can’t get any crazier, each week we get a whole new view of crazy. And the more the world pounds on our door through news and social media, the more our grip on spiritual reality can loosen. The silence and solitude of contemplative practice, the wordless knowing of God’s presence can feel impotent, incapable of meeting the screaming needs of life’s issues.

The world always has its thumb on the scale, so we naturally tilt that way, but a fulfilled life is all about balance. We need both contemplation and action. Focusing on interior spirituality, we can become complacent, blind to the needs and suffering around us. Focusing on exterior activism, even if we call our drives spiritual, we can become identified with the dysfunction we oppose—angry, biased, even corrupt. But while working to keep weight on both sides of the scale, we can’t forget that our spirituality is still the foundation of any action we could possibly call loving.

Liz Walker puts it this way: “Some people would not consider a (spiritual) healing community to be part of a social justice movement. They’d argue that our work is anemic—not the ‘on the ground’ activism necessary to catalyze social change. But the exterior work of social justice is only as strong as the interior work that births and fuels it. We can’t heal as a community if we do not concern ourselves with healing our inner lives.”

When out of overwhelming devotion, Mary of Bethany anoints Jesus with a pound of expensive ointment, Judas Iscariot derides her for wasting money that could have gone to the poor. Interior and exterior on display. Jesus provides the balance, rebukes Judas saying, “you will always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.” The choices we make to act, whether micro or macro, are only as loving as the interior preparation that births and fuels them.

The interior work that Jesus did in the wilderness, the symbolic forty days of facing the wild beasts of his human compulsions, built his foundation of identity with God and informed his choices for the rest of his life. 

He did his forty. And we must do ours.

Doing Our Forty

Dave Brisbin 4.13.25
Very few of us live in the real world. 

Like avatars in a gamescape, we live in a world created by our own thought patterns, which are in turn created by our core beliefs—deeply held, fundamental assumptions about ourselves, others, and the world. Hiding in our unconscious, core beliefs are as unquestioned as the air we breathe, acting as filters through which everything in life is perceived, without our knowing they even exist. 

Initial reactions to earliest experiences, core beliefs remain in place, shaping not just how we interpret life, but how we behave. When positive, core beliefs can be advantageous, but when negative, they stoke fears that create dysfunctional behavior that creates consequences that reinforce the core beliefs themselves—I am unlovable, worthless; people can’t be trusted, will always let me down; the world is dangerous, I will never be happy—self-fulfilling prophecies in an endless feedback loop.

Jesus said the eye is the lamp of the body, so if your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light, but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. In his metaphoric way, Jesus is giving us the purpose of his entire teaching. In his language, eye/aina expands to include everything we believe and the way we see reality. If our way of seeing, our filter, is clear and true, our whole being will be full of order and clarity (light/nuhra) as opposed to chaos and dysfunction (darkness/heshuka).

Jesus riding into Jerusalem is an object lesson in only seeing what we are programmed to see. Four distinct groups all see Jesus filtered through the desires and attachments of their core beliefs. The Jewish people and Jesus’ followers see him as a savior coming to fix their problems. To the Jewish and Roman authorities, he’s a threat to their powerbases. Whether Jesus is savior or threat depends on our core beliefs.

We say Jesus is savior, but he’s not here to fix our problems. That’s our job. He’s here to clear our eyes. That’s how he saves. Our way of seeing, our core beliefs, are our powerbases. Until we let Jesus threaten our powerbases, he will never be our savior.

Threat of Clarity

Dave Brisbin 4.20.25
Cross and resurrection form the crux of Christian tradition, but whatever these events were historically, if we merely revere them from a distance of two millennia, we are missing the point of the gospels. These events realigned every detail of the lives of Jesus’ closest friends and followers, but as long as they remain historical events and theological concepts, they won’t realign ours. If the resurrection is to have the power now that it had then, we need to know where to look for meaning.

We naturally focus on the supernatural event, fighting and debating, but have you noticed that the gospels don’t show us the event at all? Makes us crazy looking for literal details, for certainty, but in the gospels, the resurrection happens offstage, in the blink of a hard cut. The story picks up afterward, following those Jesus left behind and their all-too-natural, human reactions. The gospels show us exactly where to look for meaning—not in the miracle itself, but in how the miracle affects our lives.

The question isn’t whether you believe…it’s what difference it makes that you believe.

It’s fascinating that none of Jesus’ closest friends recognize him face to face after he rises. We wonder how that could be possible. Did Jesus look different, disguise himself somehow, for some reason? That line of thinking misses the gospels’ focus entirely, which is not on the Jesus incident, but our ability to see it…that seeing the risen Jesus is a process of becoming ready to redefine impossible, a process that is always based in intimacy. Mary recognizes him after he calls her name, Clopas after Jesus breaks bread for supper. Tiny, intimate moments they had to re-experience to break the spell of their expectations.

Whatever the resurrection literally was two thousand years ago, if we don’t re-experience intimacy with Jesus now, in prayer and every face and embrace, every detail of our lives, we may say we believe, but re-animation, rebirth, will elude. The meaning of resurrection, like kingdom, is not out there somewhere to be observed, but within us to be tasted and seen as life that is always new and always alive.

Meaning of Resurrection

True North with Dave Brisbin is a podcast about the things that can bring you back to center, whether God, spirituality, community or family or all of them. Never esoteric or abstract for its own sake; always practical and full of common sense, we’re interested in exploring the effect of what we believe on our lives and questioning what we believe in light of the deep connection we’re meant to live. Dave Brisbin is an author, speaker, coach, and songwriter. He is the teaching pastor of theeffect, a faith community and recovery ministry in San Clemente, CA and executive director of Encompass Recovery, an addiction treatment center in San Juan Capistrano. For more on finding deeper spiritual expression free from limiting beliefs and behavior, go to davebrisbin.com.

Threat of Clarity

True North with Dave Brisbin

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