Christ, The Real And True Aim Of Life
A few years ago lots of people were reading The Kite Runner.
I remember Kathy Cantele recommending it, which made me stop and take
note. A year ago, now that the book no longer had a waiting list
at the library, I got around to reading it. I was glad I
did. And also glad that I watched the movie last weekend.
It’s a powerful story, and one that is all too rare these days – a
story that actually works with the subtlety of real morality rather
than the violence of self-justification that too often passes for
“morality” in this world. The book is not interested in proving
its hero “right”, not at all. The concern is that he, at long
last, stop hiding from his conscience and grow up. In order to
become a man at long last, he must learn to obey the call from his
conscience and stop thinking about saving his own skin. Saving
his own skin is what lead him to betray his best friend when they were
children. Then, wanting to save a nobler image of his own skin,
and not face the shame of his betrayal, leads him to shame and reject
his friend, over and over again, until he drives him away.
Many years later, just when life is really going his way: he has
married the girl he loves, and his first book has been published to
critical acclaim, and he’s living in a beautiful apartment in San
Francisco, he gets a call from his buried conscience. The call
comes from Pakistan, from an old family friend, and invites him to come
and see that there is a way to become good again – there is something
he can do to make up for his terrible betrayal of his friend when they
were young. He can go back to Afghanistan and rescue his friend’s
orphaned son.
He leaves his comforts and makes the harrowing and heroic
journey. In the process, he becomes a real man, someone who will
stand up for others even at risk to himself and his own skin.
The subtlety of real conscience is a rare thing to see in the movies
these days. Most movies are about someone getting what they want
for themselves, and when they do, we all say “yea!!!”, and when they
don’t we moan “boo.” Hmmmm, sounds a lot like unredeemed life:
yea -- I got what I like, boo -- I got what I don’t like. Same
old story and nothing changes. The world goes on with wars and
rumors of wars, petty jealousies, envy and hatred, and once in a while
some affection for the person who makes the ego feel nice for a
minute. That is the world of this world – but it ain’t the
kingdom of God. The kingdom does ask us to attune to that pesky
thing called conscience, and suffer the slings and arrows of its
outrageous accusations against us, suffer enough to seek a new way, a
new song, a new way of being in the world, a new life, a new creation.
Once when Jesus was asked about this world he reminded his students
that from the days of Noah until now people have been busy with their
lives and trying to get more and more comfortable in this world but not
paying any attention to that pesky thing called conscience, the
uncomfortable zone where we are reminded again and again that we are
missing the mark. And missing the mark is exactly what I find
myself doing every day, and most every moment of every day.
Missing the mark is the literal meaning of the word sin. In a world
where the truth is terribly distorted, it is only with great effort and
the aid of the grace of God, that we can hit the mark. Missing
the mark is the normal way in a world of distortion where everyone
liberally and authoritatively shares their own opinions as if they are
the truth and none of it ever hits the mark. Its just our
fantasies, with a few facts thrown in and pulled out of context, but we
are all convinced that when it comes out of our mouths, it’s the truth
and we really know it.
Not so, says the Gospel. Not so, says the story of Noah.
Noah is about a world that is drowning in distortion. In this
world, it takes tremendous efforts to safeguard the truth and pass it
on. And the truth is never about proving ourselves right. That is
not the truth. The truth is much higher and has no loyalty to our egos
that want so much to be right. In order to live in the truth in
this world, we have to build an ark and seal it with pitch so the
waters of distortion don’t penetrate it. We have to build a boat that
can float atop the sea of distortion. We have to build a boat,
gather up all that might survive, and live in a different way until the
floods recede and there is soil available for planting the seeds of
truth once more.
“All the diamonds in this world, that mean anything to me, are conjured up by wind and sunlight, sparkling on the sea. . .”
This is a song that I can’t sing without thinking of the church.
This is how the church is in my life. It corrects me. It
moves me. It changes me. It doesn’t coddle me or let me
sink deeper into the sea of distortion, but seeks the truth and asks me
to work for that. “Will work for truth,” that’s the sign of the
church in this world.
This is how I see the church in this world. I want it so very much to
survive. I want it to continue to transmit the truth of the
Gospel and the divine love and unity of communion, the call to become
new in baptism. I so very much want the church to be this ark, to
not be drowned in the distortions of our time, to not cheapen its
witness by trying to shout loudly or entertain people or pretend to
some vain perfection. No, I want to see the church be real.
I want to see the church be a place where people can come in order to
see how very much we all are missing the mark, and seek to change and
be changed from people seeking comfort to people seeking the kingdom.
And here I am, seeing again and again how very badly I miss the mark
and finding, only in Christ, the real and true aim of human life.
It was an agonizing shock for me this week when I saw again how I had
missed the mark, and this time in relation to vows I made in the name
of Christ to the church long ago in baptism and again in
ordination. In baptism I vowed to seek and serve Christ in all
people – not to seek Christ in people I like, or people I feel
comfortable with, or in people during parts of a day. This vow
makes me subject to Christ through being available as a servant –
through what others ask of me in terms of service. It means answering
the phone whenever and wherever, it means opening the door. It
means putting myself in the world at the point of service. And in
ordination I vowed to safeguard the sacraments of the church in caring
alike for young and old, rich and poor, the people I want to serve and
the people I don’t want to serve. But in my mind, I figured that
if I was going to leave St. James (and I honestly think this is the
best thing for the church at this time), if I was going to leave a
place I really love, a place where I know people and am very much at
ease, I was not about to leave myself open to have to start priestly
service all over again in a difficult place, a strange place, someplace
I had not chosen myself. But that is wrong, the call is to serve
wherever, whenever – not to discriminate, but to leave myself wide
open. I really miss the mark when I try to protect myself.
I miss this mark all the time. But here’s the rub. I’m
given a simple, ancient practice for putting myself into the place of
service. This practice is obedience. A true friend had been
trying to get me to see that I was moving into complete
disobedience. I had hedged my disobedience pretty
carefully. I had put together my own plans, and they seemed good
ones. The only problem – no room for surprises, and no room for
God. So, missing the mark, completely, a real and pernicious
state of sin, very dangerous to the life of the soul. What is the
solution – obedience – putting myself at the disposal of the church
through the bishop – and making myself available to go wherever,
whenever. I could not believe how strong was the resistance and
dread I felt to making the phone call and putting myself back into a
place of real obedience. That discomfort lingers as a strong reminder
of the strong tonic that is real conscience. Strong and subtle, it
accuses only myself, and no one else. Conscience does not blame
anyone, or sink into shame, it simply states the undeniable truth:
Edie, you are out of line here, you are in deep error, you have strayed
like a lost sheep, please repent, turn around, come back to the road of
seeking the kingdom. Seeking comfort is not the answer, escaping
into a quiet little corner somewhere is not the answer. The
church in the world is in a difficult place – and serving that place is
seeking the kingdom. Seek the kingdom of God and everything will
be added, everything that is needed for the journey that is. Seek
comfort and you lose your soul, so what is the gain?
So I have to open myself up once again to the unknowing, complete
unknowing that comes with putting oneself at God’s disposal. The
truth is, I must make myself available to serve as a priest in whatever
way this diocese might make use of me, so, all my well-laid plans
aside, I honestly don’t know what I’ll be doing in a few months or a
year. And having left myself open like that in the past, I know
that it might put me in some uncomfortable places. That is the
nature of the baptismal call – to go wherever, whenever, however, and
trust that God will work, even when I have no idea what to do or how.
So Amen to that. Amen to obedience and farewell to thinking that
I know (at least for the moment, until I have to repent of this all
over again, and again, and again).
The Rev. Edie Bird
June 1, 2008
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