I've probably had more than my fair share of interesting friends and acquaintances over the years. This was particularly true in high school and college. In high school I had a friend Dave, that went on an "expedition" (his words) to the Salton Sea. He was going with some of his family's friends. Dave told me he was taking his new shotgun and that they were going hunting. I asked him what they were going to be hunting. Dave said that when he asked that question of the guy that was taking him he was told, "Anything that moves."
He sent me a post card while on his expedition. It opened with this line: "I hope you're healthy. That might seem like an odd greeting but if you're sick, you'll know what I mean." The last ten or so days, I've known what he meant...again. I don't have anything seriously wrong but I've had a nasty, persistent and constantly morphing cold for way too long now. I won't go into the specific symptoms (you're welcome) but suffice to say this particular ailment has manifested every possible cold related physiological process.
There are a few possible categories of human response to sickness of all kinds. Among these are denial, fear, being stoic and the ever popular whining. There are more of course and as is the case with most of us most of the time, we don't like to limit ourselves to just one. Particularly when we don't feel well for more than say, fifteen minutes.
I haven't really had fear with this cold. However, I have had frustration, impatience, definitely denial and yea verily even a little bit of whining.
Thanks to the current biological onslaught, I find myself now settling into something I first learned around the time that I received that post card from the Salton Sea. It's taken longer this time than it usually does. It's a lesson I always manage to completely forget when I'm healthy and feeling good. Sometimes when denial works it's evil magic and I get well sooner rather than later, I miss it all together. This of course means that I miss the hidden (sometimes well hidden) value in sickness, discomfort and even misery.
One of the flavors of whining you hear when people have colds is to the effect that the brain of the afflicted is not firing on all cylinders. Even the memory of what cylinders actually are may seem a bit distant. Taken together with the more obvious difficulties, the whole sick package becomes a wonderful invitation to take a seat and be quiet for awhile. Quiet is a step on the way to the lesson.
The lesson I've learned from sickness and have forgotten too many times over the years is this, wait. While that seems simple here's what our reaction virtually always is to being made to wait: "And while I'm waiting, I can read a book, watch movies, feel sorry for myself..." and on and on. Here's another way to communicate what wait means in this context: "Shhhhhhh. Just be still."
Illness is an invitation to acknowledge our limitations and weaknesses. Weakness is an invitation to faith. Faith is an invitation to everything good about being created human. And the most important good thing about being created human is love.
Here I sit typing with an upper respiratory tract chocked full of that which shall not be named. I'm not waiting right now exactly but I have remembered the intrinsic beauty of the place which I've fallen into. For example, there's music playing and for the first time in years, I can hear each note the band strikes on their instruments, even the drummer's feet. At the same time, I can hear them all playing together. I'm not there yet but after ten days of this garbage (note how hard the whining dies) I'm finally becoming still.
God's here. He's no more here of course than he is when I'm busy working, rushing and worrying. However, as I fall into forced stillness born out of weakness, I can see a little more clearly through the veil. I can hear his whispering without leaning quite so far forward. I'm a little closer and he's beautiful.
After a few decades I can say, "Yes Dave. I do know what you mean."
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Ancient Fire
It's easy to get confused about time. We run late, show up early and forget to set our clocks ahead or behind. I keep the clock in my truck running fast so I'm a little more likely to be places on time...or or maybe feel guiltier about being late.
I can't count the times when I've been running behind and thought, "I wasn't made for this." I've been wrong about a lot of things, but I'm right about that.
When I say "I wasn't made for this," I don't mean that I'm not made for schedules or that there's too much to do. My problem's a lot bigger. Time is broken and our idea of it is even more broken. I'm not made for broken time. Not a second of it.
The love of money might be the root of all evil but it's really time that commands our deepest lust. We want more time so that we can do what we want, feel relaxed, not have to rush, work to get more money so we can buy more time to do more of what we want with the time we "have." Having a lot of time also makes us feel safe, like we're going to live forever.
Conversely, we may want time to pass faster so we can put the unpleasant thing that's making time seem to crawl go away. We'd could do everything we wanted if we just had the time...to do what we want. Time's a great spinning pain that causes the hands on our clocks to bear an unpleasant resemblance to the blades in a blender spinning set on high.
A few years ago I was paying attention to the time as I barbequed outside after dark. Our family likes the meat done but not too done...gotta watch the time. Around that time of my life, I'd been studying some constellations and the stars that compose them. To pass the time until I needed to turn over the steak, I was looking at Orion. Orion is my favorite constellation. I miss him in the summer when he runs off and hides below the night horizon, hunting after something I can't see.
Orion has a great many stars that compose his form. I could try and show off and tell you how many stars make up that particular constellation. However, virtually any number I'd pick would be wrong. That's because at least one of the "stars" that typically define the constellation is actually a nebula, containing a lot of gas and likely hundreds of thousands of stars. There's a globular cluster or two in the general vicinity as well, so you could pop the count up into the millions (possibly hundreds of millions) and be a lot closer to being right than if you said eight or so. Orion is tricky that way; he isn't what he looks like at all...even if you're an ancient Greek making things up.
The light from Orion that arrives in the Northern hemisphere of earth every winter represents a wild variety of age. Some of the light is arriving a scant 240 years after the reaction that created it. The light from the close edge of the Great Nebula that defines part of Orion's sword is about 1500 years old.
Of course, there's light in both the summer and winter skies that's much older than anything from Orion. Every night sky is a bath in ancient fire that was created at virtually all possible moments between everlasting and everlasting. At night we can step outside, look up and see the most distant possible moments of history.
We were created for seeing such things, wondering over them and eventually discovering our place in a context that includes the edges of forever hiding in the night sky.
I'm writing this on Easter Sunday. A little less than 2000 years ago, about a 100 or so years before the oldest light you'll see tonight from Orion, just before he runs off and hides from summer, Jesus created a God-human super nova that fundamentally changed our realities forever. God invites us back to him with the vast wonder of all creation, including Orion and much more. This particularly includes the wonder of our own creation. Each of us is created and intended for timeless love and friendship with God and each other. Each of us is a complement to the beautiful and eternal whole.
Christ lives. He's not just in the night sky. He's not just for 2000 years ago and he's not just for a feeling we have right now. Because of the way he made us, we're not for any of that either. We were created as part of the ancient fire. We wandered off into darkness. Two thousand years ago, Christ left the fire to go and find us and give us a direction back. He made that sacrifice so we'd know love and not have to worry about whether we're early or late or if we have enough time left. He invites us to learn that the past and future through and with him is all a great, complete, beautiful now. Happy Easter.
I can't count the times when I've been running behind and thought, "I wasn't made for this." I've been wrong about a lot of things, but I'm right about that.
When I say "I wasn't made for this," I don't mean that I'm not made for schedules or that there's too much to do. My problem's a lot bigger. Time is broken and our idea of it is even more broken. I'm not made for broken time. Not a second of it.
The love of money might be the root of all evil but it's really time that commands our deepest lust. We want more time so that we can do what we want, feel relaxed, not have to rush, work to get more money so we can buy more time to do more of what we want with the time we "have." Having a lot of time also makes us feel safe, like we're going to live forever.
Conversely, we may want time to pass faster so we can put the unpleasant thing that's making time seem to crawl go away. We'd could do everything we wanted if we just had the time...to do what we want. Time's a great spinning pain that causes the hands on our clocks to bear an unpleasant resemblance to the blades in a blender spinning set on high.
A few years ago I was paying attention to the time as I barbequed outside after dark. Our family likes the meat done but not too done...gotta watch the time. Around that time of my life, I'd been studying some constellations and the stars that compose them. To pass the time until I needed to turn over the steak, I was looking at Orion. Orion is my favorite constellation. I miss him in the summer when he runs off and hides below the night horizon, hunting after something I can't see.
Orion has a great many stars that compose his form. I could try and show off and tell you how many stars make up that particular constellation. However, virtually any number I'd pick would be wrong. That's because at least one of the "stars" that typically define the constellation is actually a nebula, containing a lot of gas and likely hundreds of thousands of stars. There's a globular cluster or two in the general vicinity as well, so you could pop the count up into the millions (possibly hundreds of millions) and be a lot closer to being right than if you said eight or so. Orion is tricky that way; he isn't what he looks like at all...even if you're an ancient Greek making things up.
The light from Orion that arrives in the Northern hemisphere of earth every winter represents a wild variety of age. Some of the light is arriving a scant 240 years after the reaction that created it. The light from the close edge of the Great Nebula that defines part of Orion's sword is about 1500 years old.
Of course, there's light in both the summer and winter skies that's much older than anything from Orion. Every night sky is a bath in ancient fire that was created at virtually all possible moments between everlasting and everlasting. At night we can step outside, look up and see the most distant possible moments of history.
We were created for seeing such things, wondering over them and eventually discovering our place in a context that includes the edges of forever hiding in the night sky.
I'm writing this on Easter Sunday. A little less than 2000 years ago, about a 100 or so years before the oldest light you'll see tonight from Orion, just before he runs off and hides from summer, Jesus created a God-human super nova that fundamentally changed our realities forever. God invites us back to him with the vast wonder of all creation, including Orion and much more. This particularly includes the wonder of our own creation. Each of us is created and intended for timeless love and friendship with God and each other. Each of us is a complement to the beautiful and eternal whole.
Christ lives. He's not just in the night sky. He's not just for 2000 years ago and he's not just for a feeling we have right now. Because of the way he made us, we're not for any of that either. We were created as part of the ancient fire. We wandered off into darkness. Two thousand years ago, Christ left the fire to go and find us and give us a direction back. He made that sacrifice so we'd know love and not have to worry about whether we're early or late or if we have enough time left. He invites us to learn that the past and future through and with him is all a great, complete, beautiful now. Happy Easter.
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