Founder and former executive director of The Hive: A Center for Contemplation, Art, and Action, Troy Bronsink now works as a coach, consultant and wisdom teacher. He is an ordained minister in the progressive Presbyterian tradition (PC-USA). His first published book focuses on intersection of contemplation and design thinking that encourages sabbath, listening, imagination, and social justice. He and his wife Kelley have a son and daughter and together relish their family’s love for love for food, music, crafting and entertaining. They live in the Northside neighborhood of Cincinnati.
What past event do you often reflect upon, and how did that event change you?
Seven years ago, I was at a gathering for young spiritual entrepreneurs, diverse in ethnicity, gender, and faith. Against the 2017 national political landscape we explored themes of belonging. Fears became amplified, and discord across social differences rose to a cacophony. The facilitators skillfully convened all 100 participants into a circle to feel into the struggle of the moment. Then a brave young Korean American, identifying as trans, bared their soul, sharing the cost of being cut off from both family and their childhood congregation, and the burden that this laid on them as a spiritual convener for others.
“Is there any real sanctuary in this world?” they asked.
Tears flowed as the tune of an old spiritual gently emerged from the circle. They laid their head on the chest of a black female elder. The elder put her hand beside their face and said, “It’s okay baby, share your story.”
The lovingkindness spread through the room like the smell of a fresh cut orange. I felt a yielding that matched my experience of Rumi’s words: “a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground/ … a thousand ways to go home again.” I didn’t know that “we space” could hold such paradox, embracing all at once hurt, danger, and fierce lovingkindness.
That night forever reshaped for me the possibility of collective healing.
How does your work add to the quality of your life?
My work is accompanying others. It’s a real privilege to bear witness to those standing at life’s thresholds. When individuals or groups reach out to me, it’s often to shed old narratives, to break free from patterns causing suffering, or to establish healthier agreements. Yet beneath this seeking lies an awakening heart –– a glimpse of hidden wholeness that peaks around the corner because of life’s timing or the brave conditions we co-create. Session by session, I witness these sparks blossom into vibrant inner connections. Almost daily, I get to soak in the glow of another’s self-discovery. This osmosis activates something within me, something in the shape of faith, but sourced from a depth and breadth larger than my own limited life experience. It’s an embarrassment of abundance!
Tell us a story you would like to share with the world.
I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home. My parents were kind, devoted church leaders, committed to raising me and my siblings with a knowledge of scriptures and a personal relationship with God. My early adulthood naturally flowed into evangelical college and student ministry. All the while, the influences on my early spirituality broadened me more than one may expect. While the religious landscape of America grows increasingly fragmented, I am indebted to my evangelical mentors for introducing me to the black church, to friendships with those experiencing homelessness, to practices of breathing meditation, and the work of inclusive mystics like Henri Nouwen, Thomas Merton and Brother Lawrence.
I still recall my young legs walking into a small chapel, sitting in silence much like I do today, thirty years later as a much more liberal and universalist expression of Christian mysticism. I don’t know how these teachings slipped past the gatekeepers, but my move from private devotion to spaciousness contemplation and inclusive justice set me up for a lifetime of inter-spiritual mindfulness and activism. A warm reminder that our political adversaries are not one-dimensional characters. We never know everything, and none of us is finished.
Author photo: Courtesy of author
Side bar image: Pixabay/Edar
