Old Year Angst

from the Hubble Telescope

Woke up in the middle of the night with a gargantuan headache at the back of my neck, a runny nose, and found myself in the midst of what Anne of Green Gables called a "white night."  I wonder why she called it a white night rather than some other descriptive?  Well, whatever the reason, I lay there feeling all sorts of fear, and grief and angst!  Good heavens.  I haven't had a night like that in a while.  Self doubt ran rampant.  Insurmountable mountains loomed around me, grown from tiny molehills (well, ok, if I'm honest, they were more than molehills, but they had quadrupled in size nonetheless!)  Had I shrunk, like Alice in the looking glass?  Or had the problems become huge of their own volition? 

Morning brought a feverish weariness and so I didn't make my Sunday pilgrimage to church.  I always miss it when I don't find myself there to see friends and make new ones, to sing, to listen to a good "homily", as the Episcopalians call it.  It's interesting, the "calling" to ministry which I felt for so many years has grown silent.  It's like a beautiful calm after a summer storm.  All the years of struggle and confusion seem laid to rest here.  I don't feel any desire to serve at the altar, or preach, or dive into piles of church administration.  I've come through the most difficult year of my adult life, a kind of chaos I haven't known, though there has been plenty of painful difficulties over the years, and for some reason, that chaotic year, and a new church has simply laid to rest what once seemed like a tug of war in my heart and soul.  I may visit that calling and leave flowers at the graveyard, but there's no question in my heart, my mind, or my soul that the calling is no longer my concern.  It sits in  God's heart, and whatever may come to pass in this life or the next, is simply not something I need to wrestle with any longer.  One of my greatest passions will always be biblical interp.  I think it was inevitable that I "caught that bug," from a most astonishing New Testament professor, who put such energy and joy into teaching, who passed along such a love for scripture, that I don't think that particular part of my calling will ever disappear.  I haven't figured out exactly how to use it, but there isn't an urgency to figure it out.  Maybe I'll just always love to explore passages for their myriad of possibilities.

The ache in my head has continued, and so I'm going off to sleep, wishing you a peaceful night...or if you happen to read this during the day, a productive and happy day.

The Deception of Separation

Having grown up Christian and then very much embracing the path of Christian Spirituality, it is easy for me to slip into dualism.  Early Christians, as subversive and amazing as they were, were steeped in a dualism of the day.  Dualism divides the world into either/ors:  heaven or hell; good or bad; them and us.  Jesus teachings pressed people to go beyond seeing each other in the colors of opposites.  Jesus' teachings asked and still ask us to see the world in the living color.  He doesn't even talk about "grey" areas...but pure, unadulterated color!  And in the amazing gift and celebration of creation, we are called to usher in the kindom of God, a place where we are all on equal footing, where the respectable and the powerful willingly step back into a place of humility, and the poor, those lacking in privilege and power come right up to the front, and are given a place of honor.  Yes, you heard it right:  honor! 

Now the truth of the matter is that the powerful and the poor live within each of us.  If we listen and pay attention, we can find in ourselves the outcast, the broken, the poorest of the poor.  If we listen deeply and long enough, we begin to understand that in truth, there is no separation.  We set up the barriers.  We want to keep the poor well defined and well behaved, in their place.  Because keeping them at arm's length protects us from knowing them as human beings.  Keeping them separate keeps us secure in our "righteous" success.  And we needn't worry about slipping into the abyss of poverty and powerlessness.

And for some of us, honoring the power within ourselves is much the same...we despise how power has been used and abused, so we stand back from it, refusing it, refusing to acknowledge it dwells there in us, and we become blind to just how powerful we are.  And when we are blind to our power, well...it's a bit like swinging a sword with our eyes closed. 

Well, this conversation is a bit dualistic in itself. 

There's a guy here in the town where I live who is running for mayor, and who at one point in his life chose to be homeless.  Perhaps he still is homeless.  Wow.  What a radical concept!  Or is it?  Nope.  Let's see:  Jesus, St. Francis of Assisi and all of his followers to name a few. 

Small Heart...

There are days when my heart seems miniscule.  Days when my resentments seem bigger than my generosity.  It's a very good thing that Spirit is so much bigger than we are, so much more compassionate, unselfish, in a better humor, having countless ideas and a well of creativity that has no bottom to it.  What is so miraculous in all of this, is that Spirit invites us into all of that compassion, unselfishness, good humor, and creativity.  We may be unable to hear the invitation for all the noise around us, or the resentments in our hearts which seem to scream so loudly, nothing else is audible.  But the invitation is there.  She is constantly whispering in our ear, always at work in our lives in ways we can't necessarily fathom.  She can be a bit of a nudge.  And then she can bring
along Christmas miracles that leave us breathless.  Sometimes we turn a corner and life changes.  Our perspective widens.  And what has been so difficult, softens.  The path before us opens up and things just make sense. 

How in the world can my heart be so small when my identity is rooted in eternity; when my soul belongs to the One who never sleeps; when I am the recipient of love beyond all comprehension?

Here's to hoping we can hear Spirit's voice a little more clearly, as we continue the journey on which each of us has embarked, simply by being born into this world.