Second Sunday in Lent: Lamentation

Sermon notes for Oakleigh Anglican Church, Sunday 21st February 2016

Luke 13:31-35

(Other readings for Lent 2: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1)

 

Lament is a prominent theme in Lent.

I guess really lament is a common theme in life, it came up in a conversation with my mum during the week. We were discussing a book by Joan Chittester, called The Gift of the Years. It’s a beautiful book made up of wise thoughts about growing old gracefully. More than that really, it’s actually about re-discovering your life purpose of life in ‘old age.’ Mum had just read the chapter on ‘adjustment.’ Now there’s a great word for growing old! There’s a big adjustment to make to fully embrace that life-stage, as of course there is with every life-stage. And in the adjustment, there is much that has to be let go of. But there are things are worthy of our deep, deep grief, and letting go of them requires a very suitable lament, or mourning. The loss of my Dad being the prime example for my Mum.

For me in the middle of life, some of the major adjustments of the last few years have been the loss of time to myself upon having children; the end of many years of education upon graduating with my PhD; and the frustration and burden of postgraduate unemployment.

In my discussion with Mum, we pondered the fact that grief and adjustment take so much longer than either of us expect! Lament, to me, shows up in these times as the on-going work of naming a grief, feeling it, and letting it go. And we do this again and again with the major wounds in our life. It can take years to get over a a divorce, a retrenchment, a debilitating illness, or the loss of youthful vitality! After the first acute pangs of grief are over, the pain and the ‘adjustment’ lingers on. So anniversaries and special occasions bring a greater awareness of these losses, and there is a rightful place for lament at those times. Lament as a process of naming a grief, feeling it fully, and letting it go.

That is how I understand Lament to function in Lent. It is a season, a special occasion by which we may deal with the lingering affects of our brokenness. The long ingrained remnants of pain and hurt from our sin, and from sins done to us.

Lament has a special place in this season of Lent, to name these hurts in our lives, feel them fully, and then let them go. And I think that is why the wise ones who put together the lectionary readings, placed this gospel story here to be read and reflected upon today.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Jesus laments.

Jesus had been travelling tirelessly through village and town, teaching about the Kingdom of God, slowly making his way towards Jerusalem. Somewhere along the way, some Pharisees turned up to where he was teaching and warned him that he should make himself scarce, because Herod was trying to kill him. Whether these Pharisees were friend or foe is not mentioned in the text, but the Pharisees do not usually appear in the gospel stories as ‘pro-Jesus.’ There is no other evidence offered by Luke in his gospel that it was Herod who was rooting Jesus out. And Jesus response focuses on the religious threat at hand rather than a political threat to his person.

He says, if I may rephrase, ‘today, tomorrow, and the next day, I will go on preaching and walking steadfastly towards Jerusalem, because that is where my mission ends. I am a prophet on the way to the Holy City, coming in the name of the Lord.’

Jerusalem, City of David and centre of the nation Israel, the nation born of covenant with Yahweh. The city in which the temple of Yahweh stands as symbol of a privileged relationship between Yahweh and the people whom he called through the ancient Abraham.

The city that kills the prophets Yahweh sends to it. The city that does not or will not recognise those wise ones with their cries, ‘Blessed be the one who comes in the name of the Lord.

How Jesus longs to gather up the beloved Jerusalem in his arms, like a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wing. How Jesus longs to love his brothers and sisters of the covenant, but they do not recognise him.

The lament over Jerusalem is pointed at these Pharisees that have come to ‘warn’ Jesus. It seems to me that Jesus has perceived a deceit in their visit. Smiles covering over a hardness of their heart, using a convenient ruse to try and get rid of him from their town. Get him to move on with preaching tour, with his message of the immanent Kingdom of God and the call to repentance.

Perhaps this is how it always is when religion—be that the people of Jerusalem or the people of the Church—gets old and stale. In my community, the most common declaration of religious affiliation would be ‘spiritual but not religious.’ I think what Jesus is confronting here is the opposite. He is describing a Jerusalem that is ‘religious but not spiritual.’ To reject the prophets of God is to reject a conversation with God. And to reject a conversation with God is to take the spirit out of the Jewish religion – for worshipping at the temple in Jerusalem is entirely about being in an ongoing and alive relationship with God!

Jesus lament over Jerusalem models for us a very particular type of Lenten discipline. This Lenten lament is a call ‘repent’ religion.

Repentance in Lent is not just about giving things up, it is really about purgation or purification. Sorting out the things that lead to life from the things that lead to death. In particular, we locate the things that do not lead to life and clear them out, in order to make space for the new life in Christ that is the fruit of Easter Day. So Lenten spiritual disciplines include a whole range of practices that lend themselves to self-examination and humility, and our religion needs the discipline of repentance just like every other aspect of our life and faith. Lament is the specific practice of naming a sin, and mourning the harm it has done.

To lament our religion, is to recognise and mourn, the ways that our religion is leading to death rather than life. It’s not to throw it out entirely. It is simply to allow the prophets of God to speak truthfully about our religious state of affairs. Note carefully the loving nature of this return to relationship. Jesus longs to draw his loved ones close, to cuddle them under his wing. Lament does not result in harsh judgment or violent condemnation. Lamenting our religion should result in a softening, just like when our mother took us in her arms we relaxed into her body. In the marvellous warmth of her love anger or hurt we felt slipped away. We got up ready to rejoin the game or able to be kinder to our sibling, or more willing to do our chores.

Lament clears the way for a return of love.

Lamenting the brokenness of our religion is of course, primarily a corporate affair. So this Lenten practice might require us to have some conversations with one another in the church. Not just winging, but really specifically identifying the signs of life as opposed to the signs of death and supporting each other to choose life. What do we keep on doing just because we’ve always done it? Can we return something that is a burden back to being about God, about drawing close to God and expressing our relationship with God?

So in our prayers, we remember the conflicts of the Holy Land. We remember the conflicts between religion. We feel the pain. We pray for those still suffering. And we trust them again to God’s care.

We name the terrible sins of the church made public by the royal commission. We publicly state our prayers of deep regret and apology. We trust in God’s forgiveness and redemption of the church.

We acknowledge the difficult public debates of asylum seekers and same-sex marriage in which the church is intimately involved. Sometimes standing up for what is most loving, sometimes seeking the protection of self-righteousness. We acknowledge the complexity of these issues and we trust again that God’s grace will be sufficient to equip us for this ministry of debate.

We feel the full force of our empty pews. We lament that there are people who used to sit beside us but who no longer do. We feel the sadness of our children and grandchildren choosing a different spiritual path. And we note the deep disappointment that the church that we love struggles to fulfil all our expectations.

First and foremost, however, this Lenten lament must begin with ourselves. We must examine ourselves for the place of faith and religion in our own lives. Do we use our religious status to shield us from the divine, or to bring us into greater contact with God and our truest selves. Exposure to the perfection of God is often uncomfortable. And yet, when we entrust ourselves to it, we experience the warmth of embrace that Jesus describes, like a hen gathering up her chicks. Saying yes to spirit without the trappings of religious rules is like throwing ourselves into our mothers arms, to relax fully into her warmth and feel ourselves awash with love. We let go of hurt and grief here in this embrace. We clear away a little more of our old wounds and bad habits.

Through a Lenten lament of our religion, we clear a way for new life in the spirit, and make space for resurrection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Religion and Spirituality, edited by Martin Dowson and Stuart Devenish

I recently reviewed a Sociology of Religion text for Crucible, an Australian on-line journal on theology and ministry which is under the auspices of the Australian Evangelical Alliance.  Religion and Spirituality, edited by Martin Dowson & Stuart Devenish (Information Age Publishing, 2010).  It is a volume in a series called, International Advances in Education: Global Initiatives for Equity and Social Justice.

Religion and Spirituality is a collection of research essays on this theme in educational contexts.  The basic question is how does spirituality and/or religion work to raise issues of social justice in educational contexts.  To read the whole review go through to Crucible here.  The 3 sentence summary is:

This collection of essays on ‘Religion and Spirituality’ maps some of the terrain for the argument reintegrating spirituality and religion with our efforts towards a stable and just society. “From the 1950s onward, in response to the perceived failings of modernity (eg. War; depression, global inequality, environmental degradation), attempts to bring together education and, at lest, generic values or morals increased… Religious educations were confronted with the challenge of bringing together the secular and the sacred, even as science and religion grew ever more distant from one another” (viii).

The journal has some creative thinkers working on it and is worth checking out:

Crucible’s aim is to enhance creative  thinking about the relationship of biblical and theological truths to the life, ministry and mission of the church. It is a forum for scholars and practitioners to publish material, interact and resource the Christian community. 

Crucible publishes three types of material:

  • The Cauldron:  formal, academic, ‘blind’ peer reviewed scholarly articles.
  • The Test-tube: ministry resources related to the life, ministry and mission of the church. 
  • The Filter:  book reviews

Egalitarian Spiritual Space: Left Bank Leeds

Left Band Leeds is a remarkable space.  It is ethereal in its beauty, haunting in its potential for any creative endeavour, and a complete surprise (contrast) from its ordinary exterior.  Deconsecrated as an Anglican Church in the 1990s it was owned for a time by a Pentecostal Congregation who could make no headway on the huge financial burden of transforming such an ancient relic into a contemporary space of possibility.  It is now managed by a Board of Trustees made up largely from a local missional community of Christians.  Their vision for Left Band Leeds is as a vibrant place of creativity and spirituality.

Left Band Leeds is a missional space – not just because of the intentions of the Trustees, it seems to invite spiritual exploration of its own accord.  Perhaps it is the wonder-full beauty alone that does this, but I have wondered about the psycho-spiritual effect of the building’s lack of inherited church ownership.  There are no plaques commemorating wealthy people of old and no sophisticated religious iconography beyond the simplest temporary cross and the permanent fixtures retained to satisfy The National Trust.  I found myself wondering about the importance of it being deconsecrated – could it be that it works as a missional space because it is not ‘our sacred space’ that Christians are inviting others into but rather is ‘a deeply spiritual space’ where Christians are starting a conversation which for them leads to Christ?

The questions of power and influence were never far from my mind as I contemplated questions of transformative space these past few weeks.  The creative arts do provide opportunities for mission in a spiritually seeking generation, but any conversation that denies the freedom of individuals to respond without coercion is both unethical and ultimately ineffective.  If our rhetoric is an invitation to ‘share’ then we need to have genuine dialogue and forgo any sense of superiority.  It’s this ethos of radical spiritual egalitarians that is slowly giving birth to new possibilities for evangelism.  Perhaps that will be surprising to some, but for me it is simply a profound discovery that God is fully capable of looking after God’s own business – including the establishment of the Kingdom of Heaven here on earth.

Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for Personal Growth by Robert A. Johnson

(Harper One; New York, 1986)

I wonder whether one reason theologies in the Enlightenment tradition have struggled to deal with the topic of religious experience is because it is just very difficult to explain, and Enlightenment empiricism is all about explaining data.  Somehow, my friend ‘the painter’ and my friend ‘the story teller’ seem much more equipped than I to communicate something meaningful about the inner life of human beings.  Well, that may be the case, but this post is my attempt at some explanation of my inner spirituality.

Robert Johnson is a Jungian analyst who has written several books on the inner life.  He writes really well, so if you want a book to facilitate personal engagement with psycho-analytic tools for personal-growth I recommend him.  Though I also recommend you don’t get into this without some kind of trusted and skilled, debrief person in place.  In this book Johnson describes the tools of dream analysis and active imagination, tools for waking up the unconscious world of our psyche.  Night dreams are different to active imagination and the process of working with dreams and imagination is different.  The former is m0re reflective, given that one begins to interact with the story only upon it’s conclusion when the dreamer wakes up!  Journalling is key to both strategies as a way to hone insight. 

I’ve never had much memory of my dreams so that’s not been all that helpful to me.  Active imagination however, has been very powerful.  Active imagination as Johnson describes it seems to be parallel to hypnotherapy as it is practised in many clinical psychology settings.  It is an exercise is internal story telling, whilst relaxed and focused within one’s self.  In my experience active imagination has always been a vibrant, 3D movie world!  To prepare I go through a relaxation exercise and put on the 3D glasses, opening my mind to the unfolding story.

Johnson is careful to distinguish between active imagination and fantasy.  In imagination, you do not force the unfolding of the story, you just let it be.  They feel very different.   In my experience fantasy has a shade of the illicit to it, like I am manipulating the characters from behind the scenes.  I’m not an advocate of indulging fantasy! 

Johnson is also careful to distinguish between archetypal voices or persons in the imagination and the personal characters.  An archetypal image is one that is universal – that every human being would have access to in their imagination.  Characters who fulfil social roles are classic archetypes – mother, lover, child, heroine, and so on.  The reason why the Greek gods and goddesses are so often used as symbolic representions of the archetypes is the sense of their eternal existence, and in my internal images, they take on a kind of grandeur and glamour – they are ‘larger than life’.  There are other figures in my imagination which are more ordinary and reflect the particular experience of my life.  They don’t stand for everyone’s experiences – just mine.   It’s not that they are less integral characters to the storyline, they are just not as luminous.  It’s kind of like the difference between a blockbuster moviestar and a character actress from an interesting indi film.  These stories of my inner life are full of drama and dilemmas – they’d actually make pretty good movie scripts!

So right away here, there are at least 2 types of ‘voices’  or articulations of my whole personhood in my inner life, that I am clear are quite distinct.  What has fascinated me on this journey however, is that this kind of unconscious story telling is also very different to the experiences of my prayerful imagination.  Whilst on retreat several months ago, a vivid and vibrant image popped into my head as a picture of my inner ‘place’ of prayer – it’s been a wonderful gift.  Jesus is there.  As is the Father and the Holy Spirit.  So too are all the people who I hold in my heart, and a very distinct version of myself.  It’s a place of conversation and engagement with God – we talk (we hug) and I mull over important decisions and directions there.  As characters in the storyline of my imagination, God feels very different to the images of my self.  There is something independent about God, just as my friends and family remain their own distinct person, no matter how close we feel.  This place of prayer is for me a place of integration.  I am my self.  God is God’s self.  Others are them selves.   (By the way, Johnson advises to be careful about using real people in active imagination – we have no right to impose our choices on other people, even in the privacy of our inner world.)  Prayer imagination is full of scriptural images and indeed that has become for me the litmas test as to whether it is a conversation with God (prayer) or a conversation with my self (active imagination) – prayer images match up with scriptural images and themes.  They also have discernable consequences of blessing – a flow on affect, usually for others as well as myself. 

So, now we’re up to 5 different types of characters that come up for me in imagination – the archetypes, aspects of my semi- and un-conscious self, my whole self, God, and any number of real individuals (when I’m in prayer only, because I reform real people in active imagination, searching for the expression of my self not the other).    But wait, there’s more!  Very occasionally in my 40 years I have heard the distinct voice of God speak directly to me.  That experience was one of something totally beyond me intruding into my inner space, in quite a startling and unsettling way.  Sometimes an insight might startle me – a penny drops and I suddenly ‘know’ something with absolutely clarity. Like a little bubble of fresh air burbed up from the deep. Still feels like I came up with it myself.  The God intrusions feel different. 

That’s 7 different experiences of the inner life.  It’s busy!  It’s often very noisy in my head!!  Compare that then, with the practice of contemplative prayer. 

Christian meditation focuses on the emptying or stilling of the mind, as all meditation does.  However, the emphasis for the Christian is on openness to that which is wholly other.  The mysterious fullness of God which is beyond all human articulation – in words or images.  I often think about it as making space to encounter God, I have to clear things out of the way for God to get in the room!  There is such a luxurious peacefulness about that which, for me, is entirely at odds with my experience of my self.  I do not lose myself when God envelopes me, but I am wrapped up and cajoaled like a newborn baby.   

It’s taken me quite some time to write this post but I persisted because I think it’s really important.  I believe that knowing ourselves to deeper levels is critical for the Church in this time of massive socio-cultural transition.  We will not move beyond factionalism and marginalisation until we can live powerfully from a place of knowing with infinite certainty that we are loved and lovable.

Living with Jesus in Liminality: an invitation to be ‘dead with the dead God’

Just posted a link to my 10,000 word essay on liminality on the reddress writing page.  It was a long and difficult labour, but I am inordinately proud!

Liminal, adj  \’li-m’-nel\

1.  of or relating to a sensory threshold

2.  barely perceptible

3.  of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition.

This piece of writing is theology born out of my own experience – heart, soul, mind and strength.  It is also where I think the Western Church is at – the old has died, but the new has not yet come.  It is the very definition of the ’emerging’ church – finding our way through a time massive time of transition and ecclesiastical upheaval.  So I’ve written about the spiritual experience of individual believers, the power of ritual for times of transition, and postmodern cultural liminality.  In all of that I suggest that Holy Saturday offers us a spirituality which gently guides us through a really difficult time.  Here’s the intro & conclusion:

There are moments, sometimes long extended, where life seems to drop into a kind of suspended state.  There is a memory of a past with form and intelligence but the simplicity of life has passed away and no shape or meaning has yet replaced it.  This moment of ‘liminality’ is an apophatic state of continuous present.  We have only the vaguest knowledge of ourselves, God and our world by what we used to know in the past and now do not know in the present.   On Holy Saturday there is similarly no human form or constructs, the Incarnated God has passed away.  And whilst faith prompts hope that there might be a further movement to the story, any future is not yet foreseeable.  There is nothing to do here but lie with Jesus in the tomb.  It is ‘betwixt and between’, a moment of liminality.  The Christian hope in this story is that there is nothing to do but wait.  Wait for the Lord’s resurrection.  Wait for God to act.  If one waits for the Lord’s rescue, the tomb can be transcended.  This essay explores the nature of liminality as a descriptor of life in transition in relation to individual psycho-spiritual states, Christian ritual and the present socio-cultural shift in Western society.  It then considers the spiritual lessons of Holy Saturday to ask: how is the Christian to live in such a moment?  What rules still apply?  What is the invitation?  I conclude that moments of liminality invite the Christian to ‘be dead with the dead God’ (Von Balthasar)…

This essay has presented an argument that liminality is a natural part of human experience which presents the follower of Jesus with an opportunity.  Surviving liminality requires faith and understanding – that this is not the end of the story, that there has been One who has been here before.  It is, in fact an opportunity to come into intimate contact with that One who is beyond our reach in the everyday of life.  Saying yes to this opportunity means embracing the moment –  standing still in the dark, or lying with Jesus in the grave.  It is a strange mix however, for at once there is a letting go of the old, a refusal to draw on human resources, the determined act of trusting that there is a future.  Critical thinking and searching for meaning, searching for God is a liminal intelligence that refuses to believe there is nothing but void.  That there is a power beyond the grave to come to our rescue, break through the meaninglessness with purpose and redeem the old ways so that they make sense again in a new light.

The Image Journal Blog

www.imagejournal.org

Really grateful to Alister Pater of Cafe Church for directing my attention to this blog: The Image Journal  –  art::faith::mystery

Some wonderful writing examples…

Balancing My Stuff by Peggy Rosenthal

“So this is a post about a poem about a painting and its painting-within-the-painting (sounds a bit like the house that Jack built).

How, it makes me wonder, can we live without art (I mean all the arts, verbal and visual and performative)?

Without the shaping and distilling and re-envisioning of experience that art gives us—whether that experience is of life’s major moments or just the stuff of every day. About ten years ago, I wrote for Image an essay called “Why We Need the Arts in Time of War.”

Now I’m thinking: we need the arts at all times.

At least I do.

The Veil Between Us by Alissa Herbaly Coons

“With the birth of my daughter, the suckling-urgent question of how to be a good mother has joined the question of how to be a good neighbor. It also reordered my identity: first a mammal, then a Christian and participant in general society. In the past, with neighbors of any stripe, my default mode has been polite indifference.

With a small human to raise, that doesn’t seem good enough anymore.”

Moot Podcast: Dialogue with Ian Mobsby and Richard Rohr

Fabulous podcast from 2 of my favourites:  moot.uk.net

25 minutes of great questions by Ian and insightful responses from Richard.  Totally inspiring!

  • contemplative spirituality
  • new monasticism
  • ego-centric christianity
  • spiral dynamics/ integral theory
  • working for justice
  • dualistic thinking
  • moving towards spiritual maturity
  • future of the church/ emerging christianity

‘Discernment and the Paschal Mystery: St Paul and Desert Spirituality’ by Mark McIntosh

In Discernment and Truth: The Spirituality and Theology of Knowledge (New York; Crossroad, 2004: 127-148)

Epistemology – the study of how we know stuff –  is not everyone’s cup of tea!  But for me, it was the very reason I set aside 2011 to study.  This chapter by Mark McIntosh inspired clarity in my own thinking and produced an essay for the MTh in which I articulate an epistemology which has been jostling to emerge for quite some time.  I’ve put a link to the essay up on the writing page if you’re interested to read the result.

MM explains how “the paschal mystery seems to recreate human perception and understanding” because “the transformed disposition of the knower… [ is] …crucial to the functioning of discernment.”

As a ‘Mystical’ Theologian, drawing equally on the Dessert Fathers and the Apostle Paul to illuminate the Jesus narratives, MM fuses intellectual knowing with experiential knowing in a way most Modern Theological traditions seem incapable.  That does not mean that he is disinterested in rationality but rather,  as the Apostle Paul suggests, there is an alternative Christian rationality which emerges from a person’s encounter with the Resurrected Jesus.  The cross has the uncanny ability to reveal our self-idolatry, or in the Girardian terms which MM prefers, the cross “grounds the mind in reality free from the distortions of fear, envy, and anger.” It presents a mirror to our very selves and we see not just our suffering but also our sin.  All of us, at one time or another, are guilty of allowing another to be ‘sin for us.’   “The ‘mind of Christ’ (1 Cor 2) is not an alien rationality that displaces native human reason, but is rather a pattern of rationality constantly held open by faith to the wideness of God’s mercy.”  Hence, real knowledge results in real love – of God and neighbour.  “This freely self-giving love of Christ becomes, by the power of the Holy Spirit, the very structure of a new kind of talking and thinking and being with one another.”

“So knowing with the mind of Christ is not simply an acquisition of truths but [as James Alison writes in The Joy of Being Wrong,] ‘an expanding possession of the believer by the Father and the Son creating eternal life in the midst of this world through the creation of an imitative adhesion’ by the believing community to the practices that identify Jesus’ relationship with the Father.”

For those who are interested in the rearrangement of the outdated evangelical and liberal categories in the emerging Radical Orthodoxy movement, which tends to be ‘conservative’ on Christ but ‘progressive’ on human morality issues, understanding this subtle integration of head, heart, soul and strength is important.  These are not ‘Modern’ categories of rationality.

My sense about Easter Knowing is not identical to Mark McIntosh. (I prefer Bernard Lonergan’s analogy of ‘conversion as being-in-love’ to Rene Girard’s ‘mimetic theory’.)  If you are interested you can read my essay here:  Why is the Resurrection the epistemological key to Truth and Knowing in Theology?  Here’s the introduction which gives you a summary:

The Passion is at the centre of the Christian faith.   It is the focus of the liturgical year, the preoccupation of the gospel writers, the ‘miracle’ upon which all other miracles depend and the key to constructing theologies about the person of Jesus and the Trinitarian God whom we meet through Jesus.   “The whole New Testament is unanimous on this point: the Cross and burial of Christ reveal their significance only in the light of the event of Easter, without which there is no Christian faith.”(Balthasar 1990, 189)  Moreover, this essay argues that the Resurrection and the events surrounding it, are the key to understanding the epistemology of Christian theology.  When we meet the Risen Lord Jesus we encounter someone who is both like us and yet totally unlike us.  The inevitable human process of ‘projection’ initiates an opportunity for transformative self-knowledge.   Seeing ourselves with complete honesty allows us to see the ‘Other’ (i.e. God, life & the universe).  Jesus as wholly other, a dead-now-living person, is key to this psychic and intellectual disturbance because he does not conform to any of our previous experience or socially constructed explanations of ourselves and the world.  It pulls us up short and sends us into psychic surprise.  It initiates a moment in which to pause and think.  It is “how the paschal mystery seems to recreate human perception and understanding” (McIntosh 2004, 127).

Fire: artillumina

rachel from artillumina is at it again.  sign up for art inspired spirituality journeying into pentecost: fire

i used artillumina for my lenten journey and found it incredibly moving.

have taking up ian adam’s suggestion about setting up a ‘prayer corner’ in my house to keep track of my ‘things’

Fire: Day 1

Richard  Rohr:

“Humans, once they contact their Inner Source, become living icons, not so much to a verbal message as to the Divine Image itself (Isaiah 43:10). By any analysis, that is true, humble and confident power. It is the ultimate meaning of a well-grounded person.”

Find an object to represent your “Inner Source”. Keep it in a safe place, we’ll be adding more objects to this one during the week.