DISCERNING THE MIND OF GOD . . .
The Revd. Deacon Polly M. Bowen
As I write, the first week of my vacation draws to a close. There will be other weeks, soon, but tomorrow I return to St. Matthias and the work I have been doing there, and it is important for me at this moment to sort out some thoughts and put them in order.
In my study time this week, I have devoured a book, Dakota, by Kathleen Norris. I had read and delighted in another book by Ms. Norris (The Cloister Walk), but had avoided Dakota on the grounds that a travelogue was not what I was seeking. Travelogue it is, but the excursion is largely to the center of one’s own soul, and each new chapter has brought me fresh insights into my own soul-journey.
Despite Ms. Norris’ love of the place, the
I ponder the fierce storm we have recently weathered on our voyage together, and the mind of god counsels remembrance. No worthwhile journey should be made without taking stock of where we have been. It is our custom to continually revisit our heritage with each rotation of our Christian year. As each retelling of the Story brings new discovery, so it is with our most recent chapter. Details that were essential last spring, even last week, fade in their significance, while others not considered earlier take their place as fundamental components of our life together. Perhaps we should travel a little more slowly, with greater appreciation for where we have been. Perhaps it is a mistake for us to be in such a hurry to “get on with things.”
That “we have erred, and strayed from Thy ways” is obvious, but we are not abandoned; the limitless love of God follows us unrelentingly wherever we stray. Nor have we strayed as a distinct body, heading off in one clear, unswerving direction. We are an amorphous group, and our name is Legion. We have sought shelter not in the Rock that is Christ, but in clinging to the various crumbling rocks of our own fashioning – rocks named Pride, Intolerance, Narrow-mindedness, Anger, Self-righteousness. Like the proud and stubborn Dakota-dwellers of Ms. Norris’ book, we have not welcomed the differing opinion. We have listened only to like-minded voices, shutting out the rest, and our deafness has inflicted a great wound on the body of Christ.
We are not the first to tread these perilous paths; history abounds with misbegotten deeds committed in good faith and in the name of the Church. The mind of God whispers to us to remember, lest we repeat the mistakes of the past, but also to forget the details that now poke and prod so agonizingly at our hearts, inviting further transgression. When wrongdoing is repented and confessed, God forgets. We are not God, and forgetting does not come easily to us. But we are commanded to “be perfect, as our Father in Heaven is perfect.” (Scholars tell us that a better translation is “be compassionate . . . “ This softens the command, but still demands courage of the earnest Christian pursuing life in the image of Christ.)
The classic components of the grief experience, described so aptly by Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) are evident among us in all their many facets. We do not agree on much: what one person sees as glaring injustice to one family, another sees as necessary protection for other families. What one sees as requisite adherence to the law, another sees as pharisaic lack of compassion. What one sees as an essential lesson (actions have consequences) to set before the young, another sees as treating the divine gifts of contrition, confession and absolution (and by extension, other sacraments) as pie-in-the-sky illusion. The chasm between opposing perspectives is wide and deep, and we wallow in the abyss of our grief, laboring through our various stages as if the drudgery itself were a noble calling.
Our oft-repeated prayer these many months has been “to be of one heart and mind” (BCP p. 817), but we have not reached that harmonious state. Perhaps we should not expect to reach such a state so quickly; that would be “cheap Grace” indeed. That my brother (who I am certain is wrong) is equally loved and blessed by god, and my sister (who continues to frustrate me with her blindness) remains His precious child, can be a bitter pill to swallow. But bitter pills are often necessary before healing can begin.
I wish you, in the days to come, the gift of a book, or a prayer, or a sermon. I wish you a movie or a song or a gentle nudge from a friend. I wish you whatever it takes to generate solemn reflection on our current circumstances. Division cannot be wished away, explained away, covered over, or ignored. It must be acknowledged in love and respect. Kathleen Norris’ book has caused me to acknowledge the presence of a great new sadness in my life – a sadness born of the knowledge that we have embarked on a challenging journey, and certain things will never be the same. Comfort zones are altered, relationships are changed forever, and there is no turning back. Perhaps it is even a “growing up” experience, reminiscent of our first parents; the gates are forever barred, and the way forward is uncertain.
More than anything, I wish you the understanding that we are – and have been – treading on holy ground. That God continues to gift us with his Presence amid the angst of our discord is one of the most precious lessons we can learn. St. Peter learned it in his own acts of betrayal and contrition.
