Living on the Very Edge

In the Letter of James, the writer says: “If any think that they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues, but deceive themselves, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for widows and orphans in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (1:26-27).

            At certain times, when I am most aware of my emotions and most honest about them, I feel as if I am living on the verge of some vast change. Right on the very edge. Teetering on the brink. That vertiginous feeling is unsettling, to say the least. And the daily news does nothing to relieve it.

            Lately I have been having this recurring dream—I am standing on the edge of an abyss, looking down into a darkness that is darker than night, then I feel the ground under my feel crumbling and giving way. There is a single moment of utter terror, and then suddenly I am wide awake.

            In the dream I am alone, but I don’t think I am by myself in feeling “edgy” these days. All kinds of people register that uneasy sense the world is changing—and not for the better, that familiar things can no longer be depended upon to remain the same.  Some feel the threat of a changing global climate, and the rising of the seas as a sign of the end of the world as we know it; others hear the hail of gunfire at a Fourth of July parade as a token of the breakdown of law and order and the triumph of chaos and the end of the idea of America: others worry about the specter of war in the East and feel the cold shadow of a rising Antichrist. The dollar has inflated while our trust in authority has deflated. We may blame our leaders, but the truth is it is the spirit of the times.   

That edgy feeling takes everyone differently. We might want to ignore the disturbing, unsettling realities of the contemporary world, but they have a way of forcing themselves upon us, like an illness that will not be ignored. Our feelings of unease and vulnerability are symptoms of a spiritual pandemic. None of us are immune. We share in the uncertainty of the times.

But for those who follow Jesus Christ, the times have always been edgy. We have always lived with tension–in the world but not completely of it. The Letter of James addresses that edginess and seeks to define what “religion that is pure and undefiled” means. It certainly goes beyond just thinking pious thoughts, and saying easy, comfortable words, or having the right answer to theological questions. It implies a new kind of existence lived “before God, the Father,” a life of holy silence.   

            For James that new kind of existence, religion that “is pure and undefiled” always involves disciplining what we say and how we say it. The uncertainties with which we live give rise to conflict and anger. It is impossible to escape that atmosphere of tension. The world is awash in spiteful language and obscene talk. People feel justified in saying anything at all, no matter how soiled and hurtful, in the name of expressing their true feelings. But this must not be the case with Christians, St. James says. The first task of disciples is to fill the empty spaces in our lives with a clean silence–to establish a holy quietness as our rule. Living a holy life means rejecting the language of violence, and saying a soft no to what we may want to say, which often arises from our anger and our sense of uncertainty, and yes to what we should say, which expresses our faith in Jesus Christ.

            That other component of that holy life is to say “yes” to a world of crying need. Rites and dogmas have no meaning apart from a faith that is active in works of compassion for the vulnerable and neglected. And those works of compassion are impossible except by a peaceful, disciplined spirit, detached from a world of chaos and change.

            I was walking on the beach the other day, and I watched, far out at the edge of sight, a white gull, riding on the waves.  The bird was all alone, floating on the restless water, nesting on the surface of the sea. It had no idea how vast the ocean is, and yet it must have some inkling how dangerous it can be, how immeasurably stronger than itself. Yet unafraid it floated. Millions of millions of gallons beneath and around it, yet its back is hardly even wet. It has surrendered to the power of the sea. It is humble and absolutely vulnerable, yet unafraid. Bobbing on the waves, drifting on the surface of the sea.  

            We live at an “edgy” time. All of us sense it. To one degree of another we share that feeling of being on the verge of something, a sense of uncertainty in the face of a future we cannot foresee or control. But it precisely at this precarious moment that we need to fill the empty spaces in our lives with something other than foreboding, with holy silence and concrete good works. This is time let ourselves float upon the immense mercy and strength of God and be constantly upheld.

The Dark Side of the Moon

In his letter to the Philippians, St. Paul writes:

“This one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining to what lies ahead, I press on  toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus” (3:13-14).

            The past is always the dog’s dish—a mess of good and bad.  Some of it we long to relive, and other parts we would just as soon forget. Some memories are bitter to the taste like old chocolate. Others, gilded by time, are as delightful as the scent of lilacs on a May morning. But being a disciple of Jesus Christ, we are called to do what St. Paul says he did—forget about your past, both the longing and the regretting, and “strain forward to what lies ahead,” whatever that may be. The Holy Spirit makes it possible for us to live in a new way. The Spirit gives us the strength we need to shut the gate of the past behind us.

            Growing up on a ranch, it was one of the things my father was always shouting after me–“Shut the gate behind you!” No command was more imperative. If you don’t shut the gate the cattle will get out and your problems have just begun. And it is a rule to live by, beloved–Close the gates behind you as you go along. Don’t let dead cats sit on your porch. Don’t dwell in the past.

            “Forgetting what lies behind,” Paul says, “and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on. . . .” Press on to what exactly? What is important when it comes to finding peace in your life is having a purpose and a goal toward which you are moving. No matter where you are in life, moving forward is the thing. If you don’t have a goal, you are not going to be at peace anywhere.

            I have lived a lot of places in my life, and yet I have never lived any place where so many people told me they hated being, as here in the Sunshine State. Especially at this time of year. Summer makes us long for the North, with its cool lilac scented mornings and temperate afternoons. It’s funny too, because people scrimp and save for a lifetime to end up here, and I myself am unreasonably fond of Florida. Aside from the afternoon storms, the heat is bearable, once you get used to it, the vegetation beautiful, and the skies gorgeous. And yet it is certainly true that a lot of people hate being here. And love it or hate it, it doesn’t seem to be anybody’s goal—just a place where the land stops and the water begins.

            It is a State of Dissatisfaction. It that is a big spiritual problem, not being where you want to be. If you are unhappy where you are, if you are always bringing flowers to the grave of the past, no one and nothing can make you content. That’s something that you and the Lord the Spirit have to work out together. All I can assure you is that peace is not a place–not in this world at least. Happiness is not located in your past. If it exists anywhere, it is to be found wherever the Holy Spirit has something for you to do. A purpose.

              And when you find out what you are supposed to be doing—when you have a goal in mind—then it doesn’t really matter much where you are. And sometimes you just end up where you don’t want to be. Then you need to ask the Lord—What do you want me to do to help me find peace where I am now? Show me why I am here and not where I want to be. Holy Spirit, reveal your will for me.

You can spend the rest of your life being miserable, of course. Every place can be heaven, and every place can be hell. Everything depends upon whether you feel yourself moving forward in the direction of Christ, who is our future and the future of the universe.

             My mother grew up in a small town in Minnesota, where everyone knew everyone else. When she married my father, she moved out to a big ranch in western North Dakota where the nearest neighbors were miles away. It is beautiful, but empty. The sky is vast and empty. The horizons so infinitely distant and obscure, and the land so quiet that it might swallow you alive if you aren’t used to it—especially in winter, when everything is swept clean by the wind. It is like the dark side of the moon, as she herself put it.

            I didn’t know it when I was a child, but I realize now that she was far from happy out there, cut off from her family and far from her childhood home. She lost everything that was familiar. She struggled with longing and depression. Her life was a constant battle with loneliness. But she found a home in Christ. In him she won a partial victory which is now complete, because as she often said and really believed—You have to bloom where you are planted.  

And we need to do that too—bloom where we are planted.  Every place is in some sense the dark side of the moon, beloved. No place in this world is where we really want to end up. We have to find the Lord Jesus Christ in our hearts right here and discover “the power of the resurrection” right now. And when we have done that, nothing else matters. Everything else is worthless. As St. Paul writes: “I regard everything else as loss because of the surpassing

value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ, and be found in him” (Philippians 3:8).

What Must I Do?

A Meditation on Luke 10:25-37

Luke tells us that “just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. ‘Teacher,’ he said, ‘what must I do to inherit eternal life?’” (10:25).

            It is worth noting that Jesus does not answer the man’s query directly. Instead, he answers a question– “What must I do?”–with a question—”What do you read?” And the lawyer gives an excellent copybook response, drawn from the Law of Moses. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself” (27). “You have given the right answer,” Jesus says. “Do this, and you will live.” But the lawyer still wants further clarification. “And who is my neighbor?” And to this Jesus memorably replies with the parable we call “The Good Samaritan.”

The evangelist Luke isn’t very generous about the lawyer’s motives. He says that the man was out to “test” Jesus, as if that were a bad thing.  But when it comes right down to it, what’s wrong with that?  Jesus invites us to test him. Why not test Jesus, when he tests us? He wants each of us to seek and find an answer to the question—What must I do? 

 The question arises out of an awareness that perhaps we should be doing more or something different from what we have been. It is appropriate to every stage in our lives. But as we enter the third act, we all have lots of regrets to deal with—things we did and things we failed to accomplish when the time was right. In the end we are all playing catchup. But in order for our regrets to have any meaning, they should lead to the question–What must I do now that I am closer to the exit than to the entrance? And the answer is—do justice.

            Here in America, there have been some bold experiments in equality, some shining moments when it seemed within our grasp, but there was never a Golden Age when it was fully realized. Nevertheless, behind the realities of classism, racism, and sexism that mar it, the radiant vision of justice for all remains, in so many ways unrealized, yet shining still behind the massive inequalities of our society. From the time we were children we pledged our allegiance to that shining egalitarian vision. (Do children still do that in school, I wonder?) We said the words by rote, but we also believed them. And they are still there to believe in, even though we can no longer do so uncritically. Even though equality before the law has never been realized here, and our history is a sad series of stories about our failure to be “one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all,” the great, good idea behind the tarnished reality remains the best thing about America.

And what is the source of that idea? Well, for an answer we need look no further than the teachings of Jesus recorded in the New Testament. The Christian message of death and resurrection is bound up inextricably with concern for the freedom and dignity of the neighbor. And the Gospel’s definition of neighbor necessarily includes everyone, not just the members of one’s own tribe or nation. The source of American egalitarianism is the Gospel’s insistent concern for the poor and the marginalized, for those who have been beaten up and robbed of their freedom and dignity by the system. As followers of Jesus, you and I have a responsibility to stand up for the rights and of all and everyone.

That call is especially clear at this moment when the very idea of equality is under siege. Here in the United States, there are strong forces working tirelessly to suppress the vote for the benefit of one party. Much to our shame confessing Christians are actually justifying and supporting that authoritarian movement. The vote—universal, fair and untrammeled—is a right not only guaranteed by the law, but also sacred to those who follow Jesus as a reflection of his command that we stand with those who have been left by the side of the road and struggle to realize the idea of equality in the most concrete terms.

The American poet Lucille Clifton wrote: “In the bigger scheme of things, the universe is not asking us to do something, the universe is asking us to be something. And that’s a whole different thing.” What the universe is asking us Christians is to be a force that opposes authoritarianism in all its forms, as contrary to everything we should stand for as disciples of the risen Christ. This should be the theme of every act of our lives, but especially of the third act. In retirement you have the choice whether or not to fritter your life away, which is easy enough to do, Heaven knows.  But if we are not to do that, if we are to make the most of the time we have, we need to seek and answer the question—“What must I do?”

And the answer is—Be the Samaritan. Show concrete concern for the victims of the system or casualties of circumstance, struggle for equality for all, and you will enter into the life that really is Life. That always was our calling, but it has a special acuteness now that it is crunch time.

New Bible Study Blog

Bill has started at new weekly Bible Study, Reading Through the New Testament, at the Episcopal Cathedral of St. Peter which we attend here in St. Petersburg.

We will post his notes for each lesson on a new blog   reading-new-testament.blog