Courage is commonly connected with all kinds of bravery and sacrifice. The dictionary definition of courage is the ability to do something that frightens us or show strength and calm in the face of pain and grief.

It is rarely connected with spirituality, yet seeking a spiritual life took more courage than anything else I did in my life.

I notice in many obituaries the idea that he or she “fought her illness” bravely as if a chronic or fatal illness is a test of strength or a battle between weakness and determination. Death is a struggle no human being will ever win; I learned that in my hospice volunteer work.

We are taught to see courage as brave soldiers or first responders charging in the face of death. Courage is most often defined in the media as a sacrifice in the face of grave danger.

When I sought a spiritual life sometime around 2,000, I didn’t associate spirituality with courage like most people. But I have found that it takes great courage and often a great risk to be spiritual. The search for spiritual life was terrifying to me; from the beginning to now, there is no end. The stakes – one’s self – are high.

It takes courage to believe in a God with extraordinary powers, to sacrifice for them, and to believe one is alone and responsible for their fate and destiny. There is no greater force to make decisions or come to help.

It takes courage not to believe in an all-powerful God.

It takes courage to pursue a spiritual life and sacrifice security and wealth. It takes courage to be spiritual in a society focused so intensely on wealth and security. Because true spirituality most often asks us to relinquish both to a higher power in or out of ourselves.

It takes courage to believe in Heaven and Hell and a final judgment and strength to find the time and space for solitude, prayer, meditation, or contemplation. My Amish friends are nothing if not brave; they believe that actual suffering will lead them to heaven, and thus they are willing to suffer for that.

Almost no one in our country gets paid for choosing a spiritual life or searching for one. The idea would be laughable to many Americans and most politicians.

In Christian theology, courage means following the deepest desires of our hearts and the needs of others at the risk of losing wealth, fame, power, or popularity. It asks faithful Christians to give up their temporal lives to gain eternal life.

In Judaism, courage is often defined as being ethical and having “heart-strength, ” seeking the truth and helping the poor and the needy. The Muslim faith describes courage and bravery as defending the truth in the face of opposition, calling people to goodness, and forbidding evil.

How curious that so few people who belong to these faiths accept these definitions of selflessness or practice them in their lives.

As is often the case, I define spirituality in my own way, as almost everyone does.

My search for a spiritual life has been the bravest thing I ever undertook and the most extended commitment I have ever made to one thing.

Having the spiritual life I seek (not there yet) requires me to embrace solitude and silence, look deeply inside myself, and face my truth to be better. And believe me, my reality was not pretty.

Creativity has always been linked to spirituality, and my bravest hours came with several long and painful decisions.

One was to leave my everyday life behind and separate from my family, wife, daughter, and my familiar home. I set out on a hero journey.

I was overwhelmed with fear and shame when I made this decision. I ended up breaking down in the aftermath. I wouldn’t know to this day if this was courage or madness.

Thomas Merton, the late Trappist Monk, has been my spiritual guide and inspiration. “A life,” he wrote, “is either spiritual or not spiritual. No man can serve two masters. Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.”

Another frightening decision: who to be? The person I was, or the person I wanted to be? And was it possible to change?

Merton’s writing also supported my desire to be creative: “Art,” he wrote, “enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” So did the writing of the Jewish mystics in the Kabbalah:

There, God tells the people that he has blessed every one of them with the creative spark, and he would consider it a sin and a betrayal if they failed to light that spark.

That’s the risk of it and the leap of faith. I found out who I wanted to be—a creative who would use his gifts for good and seek to recognize and correct his many flaws.

Another act of courage came early: to leave a secure job with regular pay to become a writer and take the leap of faith that my creative spark would help me discover my true self and provide for me.

A third was to go deeply inward – this took some years of daily work – and see the truth about me, to see who I was, good and bad, and work to be better. I didn’t want to go there and didn’t like being there.

Many men and women I know spend much of their lives away from facing the truth about themselves, as I did for so long.

But this is the essence of spirituality: You can believe in God or not, be a Christian or a Jew or a Buddhist, but you cannot have a spiritual life without understanding who you are.

The fourth challenge in courage came as a revelation to me about 20 years ago.

I studied the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim ideas of a life of “goodness.” I embraced Christ’s plea to help the needy and the vulnerable (and look what happened to him); I undertook the Quaker notion of a simpler life filled with concern for others and the Jewish idea of doing good as a holy and spiritual mission. I flirted with the Buddha’s idea of a peaceful and forgiving life.

I don’t worship Christ; I do follow him and his teachings. They, and Merton, are my twin inspirations, two great teachers to have.

My mission, a spiritual one for me, was to devote my remaining years to helping those who needed help and who I knew I could help.

Small acts of great kindness, I called. I chose the Mansion assisted care facility and an Albany high school service refugee students to our country. People who call themselves The Army Of Good gathered around me.

I help them still and will help them as long as they allow me and as long as I can.

I have followed Christ’s call to give up much of what I have and have little money in the bank or reserve.

That has always frightened me and perhaps reflects the courage that has lived inside me most.

For me, the spiritual life was about loving, being loved,  helping, and doing good. I am far from being the person I want to be, but I’ve gone farther than I thought possible.

When I do good, I feel something in my heart and soul that I have never felt before. It sustains and uplifts me, always takes the fear away, and gives me the courage to live my life and do more good.

That is my mission, my purpose, and the place a spiritual life has led me.

I’m grateful that I have found the courage to pursue it. I never knew it was there.