Somewhere that's green...

I returned from a long weekend in Texas to visit an important friend for the first time. We'd been talking on the phone for a long time, but finally meeting him in the flesh was great.

Leaving Fort Worth yesterday was incredibly difficult. I wanted nothing more than to be with him one more minute, one more hour, one more day. He made me feel wonderful, and I hope I did the same for him.

I feel a pit in my heart now that I'm away from him. He was very deliberate in not wanting me to feel tied down to him or to feel any obligation toward him, and I'm not sure how to handle that.

I opened myself to him, feeling comfortable enough to cry in front of him. Normally I try to hide my emotions away so that others aren't burdened by my emotions and so that I'm not the "focus". He asked how I was feeling, and I told him instead of replying, "I'm OK" or "Fine" as I usually do when I'm feeling upset but don't want to reveal my heart.

I'm not sure what to do right now. I know that for the next week or so I will be second-guessing myself, overanalyzing everything and fretting about the future, but I want him to know how much he means to me and how much I want to nurture our relationship without being a burden. I don't know if he cried after I left or if he's feeling anything similar, and I don't have the right to pry overmuch.

Right now I'm getting ready for work to get back to life as it was before I left, knowing that my life's changed for the better no matter what happens.

Peace, friends.

Ashes to Ashes, Light from Light

Today was Ash Wednesday, the start to Lent. Lent also happens to be, oddly enough, my favorite liturgical season. The quiet reflection and the darkness under the shadow of the cross speak to me by emphasizing the presence of God in the worst.

Much to my surprise, then, I noticed that at tonight's service people were smiling so easily. Today is a day of fasting and repentance, yet people were smiling and happy to see one another. We couldn't start this most dour and depressing of seasons with smiles, could we?

We did.

Ash Wednesday is an invitation to the darkness. An invitation to a place of reflection, penitence and growing as Christians. In the darkness, though, there is light.

If the outward sign of Lent is a downcast face, a sad heart, and overly sorrowful liturgy, then the real grace and light of Lent is lost. Lent is a time for freedom even in fasting.

Fasting from all that which would tear us away from God. Fasting from even good things from God's creation so that we might treasure them all the more. Fasting to unite ourselves in the pain, suffering and temptation of Christ and of God's beloved children.

Seeing Lent as a time of darkness and sorrow is really only part right; yes, it is a time of darkness because the cross looms over us, but it is not a time of sorrow for sorrow's sake. Put off your sackcloth, wash your face, and smile through the rumblings in your stomach. Smile for the freedom that fasting gives you for you are not bound by guilty pleasures, hateful thoughts and sin; you are united forever to the God of all creation through His Son.

From ashes you arise, and to ashes you shall return. And you shall return to the Light that created you.

The one right path

I know what you're thinking, and, no, this isn't going to be about exclusivism vs inclusivism regarding salvation. It's a fascinating conversation to have, but, truth be told, it's never very helpful.

My question is about issues of living one's life. I have a problem with a relationship. I'll be purposefully cryptic, but I think I can get my point across.

What importance I should attach to a relationship that might draw me from the path I'm currently on? It would mean giving up, at least for a time, my plans and ideas and allowing myself to do something kind of carefree.

In a way, I'm asking myself if I should bind myself to the path I'm on or should I free myself for something new.

Given that I'm not old (as much as I wear "grandpa sweaters") and certainly not wise (though the beard certainly gives off that vibe), I haven't had a lot of experiences in being wild and free. As a youth, I was focused on the goal: college. And in college I was focused on the goal: grad school. Now that I'm out of college and have spent some time thinking about where I'm supposed to be / called to be, I'm realizing that I haven't spent much time not thinking about what I'm supposed to be doing.

So, after being all cryptic, what am I actually wondering?

Is there one and only one right path to take?

Surely the answer would be, "no," right? A life cannot be so strictly ordered, a human being ordained to one and only one path in life, right?

At times I'm not so sure. From childhood, not going onto college would've been seen as a huge mistake, something that couldn't be corrected. And now with the way I'm going, it feels the same way. If I don't continue this way, I will be deemed a "failure" for picking a path that isn't the expected and "correct" one.

I do understand how important it is to figure out where it is I'm supposed to be and what it is I should be doing. Wandering aimlessly is not the best position to be in. But what if the way I feel I should go (or at least seriously consider going) isn't where most everyone else thinks I should be going?

Could the life lived well in communion with God take many different paths? Could more than one of them be good and right for me?

Ethical Math

I didn't make it to Boise this week. My boss wanted me to stay in town for this last week because she thought I might learn more through "trial by fire" instead of being mentored. I'd agree. Right now the local office runs a little differently than the one in Boise, so learning the ropes right here makes sense; however, I also have to be mindful of the ways that things are done elsewhere. I'm accountable to the local office and to the rest of the company.

At any moment we have to be adapted to the local yet be thinking of the global. For example, we're involved in our communities to help those in poverty work toward a better life. We run soup kitchens and pantries to feed the hungry. At the same time we have to remember the greater poverty elsewhere in the world and then see ourselves connected to their suffering. We can see ourselves in the center of nearly infinite circles stretching out on the horizon. We see the closer circles more clearly and can do a lot more.That doesn't diminish our responsibility for the circles farther out, though.

Our responsibilities are layered and pretty confusing. For every dollar or can of food I give to a local food bank, that's one less possible donation to feeding people elsewhere. We could get into an endless debate about where to start (should I give to those who might die today without food, or do I have a greater responsibility for those who I might help lift out of poverty and hunger?) because it ends up feeling like a giant math problem. People get boiled down to numbers and probabilities and percentages in order to maximize (what a nice economic word!) the good.

I can't solve this giant math problem. I can't perfectly balance all my duties between the local and regional and national and global (and universal). I can, however, try to keep them all in mind. Perfection is impossible, solving the world's problems alone is impossible. Being responsible and aware, though, are very, very possible.

Adventure in the capital!

Tomorrow I head off to start my new job with a journey to the state's capital. It'll be the first time I've been there for more than a few hours in a long, long time; the last time I stayed overnight was in junior high for an academic competition (Future Problem Solving, anyone?).

Sadly, the friend who lives there is actually here on the east side of the state with her family for the holidays, so I won't have anyone to show me the highlights of Boise. I'll pop into the cathedral, of course, for evening and morning prayer if I can, but most other places I'd rather have someone with me.

It's been a few months since my last driving adventure. Sure, the jaunt down to Twin Falls kinda counts, but it was only for the day. Not for the better part of a week.

I hope the weather stays nice.

I feel like an adult now. It's amazing.

To Escape or to Conquer

Since Kim asked, I'll post briefly on my new job. It's as an admissions consultant for a for-profit school out of Utah which recently opened a branch here. Full-time work that is more engaging than tackling problems at the service desk for a retailer, and I can actually start living a life since I can make plans more than a week in advance. Yay! Life is a little more exciting as of late, for sure. Also, other positive things are going on in live, but I'll save those for a later date.


Now, on to what I'd said I would do until Christmas:

The chapters assigned for the past few days in Father Benson's Benedictus Dominus have been dealing with the "Christians vs The World" problem.

Christians have been admonished to transcend the world, to escape it and its perceived evil. Or else we have been counseled to overcome it and replace it with the Kingdom of God as fierce warriors for God. This is a deeply political and religious problem in a pluralistic world. Are Christians to run away from the world so tainted by sin or are they to impose their worldview on others who don't share it? What about hiding our faith so as to not offend others? Or making the government into a charity to care about the poor and needy, whether or not others are so moved to help? Both conservatives and liberals are capable of escaping and conquering the world.

It's incredibly black-and-white, and thankfully both miss the point. To be a Christian isn't about rejecting or conquering the world, but instead giving up both of those ideas. I can't hide from the world because that would be giving up on it (and God doesn't give up, believe me), and I can't conquer it because there's no way I could run it right, as much as I might pretend otherwise.

So we can't reject the world, we can't conquer the world, and there's not much we can do, it seems. We can strive to love the world, even when we sigh as we read about the foolishness and cruelty of human beings to one another. We can't abandon them to their cruelty, just as God doesn't abandon us to our own cruelty and sinfulness. We can't impose our will on them, either, because we're not much better (if we even are better, which I doubt). But we can still love it and serve the people of the world.

The Guiding Light

Instead of giving yet another update on life (I start a new job at the end of this month! Hurrah!) or trying to find something on the internet to comment on (which so many other people do much better), I'll be using bits of Father Richard M. Benson's book Benedictus Dominus (in the public domain, link here) as the basis for some meditations for the lead up to Christmas.

Father Richard gives four different titles to Christ involving light for today's meditation. They are: The Lifegiving Light, the Forthshining of the Eternal, the Transforming Light, and the Abiding Light.

• The Lifegiving Light: Christ is the root from which we get all our spiritual nutrition; when contemplating God's love, we can't help but think of Christ's love for the world in his offering of himself. He is the Son and also our Sun. In this time of waiting for his coming again, Christ can feel incredibly distant. As Christians, we remember the time when the whole world was groaning, awaiting the arrival of its savior, and now we are waiting again. This time, however, we know what to look for. Christ is not the warrior-king who will conquer by force, but the priest-king who lifts earth up to heaven as a gift to God and who brings the love of God down to earth. Even across the distance of space, the sun still warms us, and even across the distance Christ still brings us to God and brings God to us.

• The Forthshining of the Eternal: In Christ we get glimpses of the divine eternity. When we talk about the End of Times, it's not about darkness and tribulations and all sorts of horrible things happening; it's about our humanity finally being taken up to God. Instead of living in fear, greed, anger, distrust, jealousy, and hatred, we will be living in God's love and peace. We catch glimpses of that here, but the Kingdom of God isn't quite fully here yet.
  

• The Transforming Light: Knowing that Christ nourishes us and also directs us onto a better future, we can't help but change. We can't be dead when we're alive in Christ! A relationship with God means I'm never done changing and growing. We all keep learning and failing and trying again throughout our lives, and Christ's presence continually changes us inside when we're open to God. Slowly, quietly, subtly, Christ is there in our prayers and work and slowly shapes us.
  

• The Aibiding Light: Christ will be here with us until the end. Unlike our sun which will die out in millions of years, Christ never will die out. More importantly, Jesus will never abandon us in our darkest nights and seasons of deep pain. We might not see him as brightly as we see the sun, but Christ hears us and loves us deeply, weeping over the pain of his beloved brothers and sisters. Christ also abides in the love of friends, the church, and partners; the transformation Jesus works in us is not just for our benefit alone but for the benefit of everyone around us. The Transforming Light shines out through us to be the Abiding Light for others.

May the light of Christ be with you in this season of Advent.


(Note: Richard Meux Benson was a priest in the Church of England during the late 1800's and founded a monastic order for men, the Society of St John the Evangelist, which continues to this day in the US. The SSJE can be found through the link to the right.)