Even so, in the midst of this, members of the city orchestra brought their instruments into the town square, where they played day after day, for hours. They played in defiance of the madness of war. Their music symbolized the indestructibility of the human spirit, despite everything. Their music, in essence, became a place of sanctuary for the people of Sarajevo.

Or, in the words of the ancient poet, CP Cavafy, "We must admit there will be music despite everything."

While I cannot imagine the horror of war, the story of music and resilience strikes a chord somewhere deep down inside of me.

I do know this: I want to live in that spirit.

I want to be that alive.

Even in the midst.

Perhaps they had some internal fortitude most people don't. Isn't that what we think? That when we witness extraordinary acts of bravery or courage or fearlessness, it surely cannot exist in me?

What we have no doubt about, is that we know what it is like to feel diminished or torn or pulled or overwhelmed or exhausted or belittled. And when we do, we need a place of sanctuary.

Because life unravels.

We hurt people we love.

We take offense.

We break or fracture-from sickness, or heartache, or loss.

Brokenness can lead us into darkness.

And we lose our way.

But it's not just that we lose our way. It's that life--and the circumstances of life--feel somehow, overwhelming. That's the kicker, I think; we feel out of control. And somehow, shamed.

One of my favorite images is from a magazine ad sponsored by the Humane Society, looking for homes for homeless pets.  A photo of a puppy and kitten--looking up at you from the page--catches your eye and your heart.  But it's the affirmation on the top of the ad that sticks, "It's who owns them that makes them important."

When we feel out of control, when we feel overwhelmed, it is easy to give in to--to be owned by--a spirit of fear.

And yet: In spite of their circumstances, the musicians of Sarajevo were not owned by a spirit of fear. What gives?

Somehow, in their music, they found sanctuary.

And reminds us of what is really important.

A sanctuary reminds us that we are enough, and that we are owned by God's bounty and abundance of grace and rest.

I just spent a weekend at a retreat center in central Texas (with a group from Houston area churches). The retreat center is about 20 miles on the other side of nowhere. A rotary phone is still the only kind that works there. (I wish I were kidding.)

Our topic: Living Without Fear. We talked about our need for a paradigm shift; moving from life as it "should" be, to embracing this life (or life in this moment).

If we 'fess up, it is easy to get derailed, and when we do, it is soooo easy to play the victim. Regardless of the inconvenience. In effect, we set aside this moment, for some more perfect moment yet to be (you know, the one we "planned for").

When we narrow our focus only to our plans or our expectations, we miss so much of life. And our spirit is diminished if we are afraid to acknowledge that life is bigger and wilder and more splendid and more unpredictable and more marvelous--whether in the midst of chaos or at the very heart of the mundane.

So here's the deal. Sanctuary is not about where (as if it is only some magical place we retreat to). Sanctuary is about what happens.
In other words, sanctuary is already within us.
Which means that wherever we go, we can take sanctuary with us, which gives us the permission and courage to embrace life--wholeheartedly--even in the middle of the storms, or the undone, or the complicated, or the prickly, or the unplanned. And with it... 

...the permission to choose.

...the freedom to give grace.

...and the freedom to receive grace.

Do you want a technique? Or a list, at the very least?

Okay, how about this. Every day, take out your musical instrument (even if that instrument is only in your mind). Go down to the square, gather with other seekers and play. Day after day, for hours. Play in defiance of brokenness and gloom and madness and hopelessness. The music will echo, reverberate and ricochet. The music will spill and cascade and overflow. And the music will create a sanctuary where tears and joy, heartache and gratitude, dreams and hope can find a home.