It occurs to me…

From the poet, Wendell Berry

“I am one who is knocking

at the door.  I am one whose foot

is on the bottom rung.

But I know that Heaven’s

bottom rung is Heaven

though the ladder is standing

on the earth where I work

by day and at night sleep

with my head upon a stone.”

This from the same Wendell Berry who wrote: “Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts.”  I like Berry’s attitude, and his mental image of the ladder, which may reach into the heavens, but which, to be of any practical use to us, has to have its bottom rung ”standing on the earth where I work by day and at night sleep with my head upon a stone.”

Though no Pollyanna, Berry exudes hope, even if hope, at times, seems to feel like Jim Carrey’s line in Dumb and Dumber: “So you’re telling me there’s a chance.  Yeah!”

There is something about the poetry of Mary Oliver that hits home with me, and based on her popularity, I guess with others as well.  Her way with words, her ability to make words into feelings, is exemplified in When Death Comes, the title, in and of itself, an amazing combination of three words.  Not the question of “If Death Comes” or the darkness of “Death Comes,” but the simple realization, perhaps resignation, of “When Death Comes.”

One line I have always favored is “when death comes, like an iceberg between the shoulders”  — a line descriptive beyond words.  But as she often does, Oliver saves the best for the last:

“When its over, I don’t want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

Photo taken in Galveston

Reading today from Henri Nouwen’s Making All Things New:

“To create space for God among us requires the constant recognition of the Spirit of God in each other.”

My first reaction is that no one told me it was going to be THAT difficult, but Nouwen persists.

“Community has little to do with mutual compatibility.  Similarities in educational background, psychological make-up, or social status can bring us together, but they can never be the basis for community.  Community is grounded in God, who calls us together, and not in the attractiveness of people to each other.  There are many groups that have been formed to defend their own status, or to promote their own causes….  Instead of breaking through the walls of fear and creating space for God, they close themselves to real or imaginary intruders.  The mystery of community is precisely that it embraces all people, whatever their individual differences may be, and allows them to live together as brothers and sisters in Christ….”

It is easy to perceive that community is gathering with like-minded folks who can, conveniently, share thoughts, complaints, and points of view.  It occurs to me that if this were true, looking in a mirror would be community.

“And when he had spent it all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.”  Luke 15:14

Reading the Prodigal Son parable today this verse jumped out at me.  Here’s the younger son in his moment of comeuppance (oh, that older brother voice is so strong!).  He has lived high on the hog for a while, but a famine coincides with the end  of his funds, and so he is “in want.”  William Tyndale translates it to “he began to lack.”  Eugene Peterson translates that into “he began to hurt.”  I like Peterson’s take – “he began to hurt.”  Recall that this kid has lead a privileged life up to this point and has likely not really ever “hurt” or “lacked” or “been in want,” but here he is experiencing that all alone in a far-off land.  He has no cell phone to call home, no computer to link up with others on social media.

It occurs to me that we’ve all been there, in that moment of hurt, lack, or want, and so has everyone else.  If we haven’t been, we’re gonna be, and even if we have been we may be there again, and again, and again.

It is easy, not having been there, to assume that those who are created their own mess, and even easier to assume that if we aren’t there (any longer) it is because of our own efforts.  All that may be true, or not.  Still, it sucks to be there, and our turn may be next.  It occurs to me that that, in and of itself, is a reason to take a “kinder and gentler” position on this journey through life.  Or, we could just short circuit all that reasoning and be “kinder and gentler” because it is the right thing to do.

Independence.  My dictionary gives these definitions:

• Not dependent (duh!)
• Not subject to control by others
• Not affiliated with a larger controlling unit
• Not requiring or relying on something else

The first two sound good, things worth striving for, though on reflection they seem a bit unrealistic.  I admit, if begrudgingly at times, that am dependent on many people, many things, and that I am ‘subject to the control of others” — judges who tell me when to be where, for instance.  As for the latter two, it seems like life would lose some richness if I was “not affiliated with a larger controlling unit” (though I wouldn’t use exactly those words to describe it).  And let’s admit it — I often require or rely on someone/something else. I bought this computer I am typing on, I didn’t make it myself.

Independence?  Well, there’s still the fireworks and barbecue, and a day off.

Anthony DeMello writes about the dangers of belief.  “As soon as you have a belief you have come to a conclusion about a person or situation or thing.  You have now become fixed and have dropped your sensitivity.  You are prejudiced and will see the person from the eye of that prejudice.  In other words, you will cease to see that person again.”

Wow! There’s a lot wrapped up in that.  But I do think I have to plead guilty as charged.  These preconceived notions are like an opaque film that keep me from seeing things as they are, and cause me to see things as I think they are.  And of course, I could be wrong.

From Jack Gilbert – Collected Poems

“We think of lifetimes as mostly the exceptional and sorrows.  Marriage we remember as the children, vacations, and emergencies.  The uncommon parts.  But the best is often when nothing is happening.  The way a mother picks up the child almost without noticing and carries her across Waller Street while talking with the other woman.  What if she could keep all of that?   Our lives happen between the memorable.”

Indeed.  It becomes easy to focus on the memorable, to become so focused on the milestones that the moments get lost.  Jesus was born in a manger and died on a cross, but what about that interaction with the Samaritan woman at the well – a thirsty man wanting a drink of water.  There was that 25^th wedding anniversary, but what about last night, sitting quietly on the front porch swing, thinking that life has been/is good!

Indeed, “our lives happen between the memorable” and “the best is often when nothing is happening.”  Something is always happening.

“Life in this world is a relay, and you never know who is handing you the baton.”  Julie Sellers

I heard this recently on a podcast and it hit home.  At times (not often enough) I am in the stands with a beer, just watching the race, but sometimes, I am on the track, tense, waiting for the baton.  But for all my planning and plotting, I really don’t ever know who will be handing me the baton.  I think of the opportunities missed because I was not wanting THAT baton.  How dare someone offer me an opportunity that was not quite in the color, form, and/or shape I wanted it to be.

Yes, the reality is that I never know who will be handing me the baton, and the quicker I accept that the baton can come from anywhere, the quicker I’ll have it in my hand.

“Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.”

It is easy to jump right past this first line of Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata, if for no other reason than there are so many nuggets that follow which grab the attention.  Still, it is worth pausing to ponder that first line.  It is, indeed, easy to get caught up in “the noise and haste,” to want to react or respond, either in kind or to ratchet it up a notch.  That in large part describes the antagonistic discourse that seems to prevalent these days – it is as if one side is intent on out-offending the other, each claiming the moral high ground as they do so.

This is, I think, the point of Ehrmann’s admonition – “remember what peace there may be in silence.”  There is, indeed, peace in silence.  No, silence is rarely showy, rarely dramatic (though it can be both in its own right) but the exercise of silence certainly tamps down the “noise and haste” – if only on one side.  Silence provides a gap in which emotions can subside.  Silence provides a crack through which reason might enter.  And you can, or course, resort to bombastic drivel there after if the silence thing doesn’t work.