A matter of trust

(post title from a Billy Joel song)

In whom do we trust?
Put another way: to whose voice do we listen?

“When he has brought out all his own, the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jn 10

“Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn . . .” (or: "If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts . . . ") Ps 95 (As I continue to meditate on this psalm, I keep seeing new stuff in it. Until this morning, I never realized how this verse follows "for we are the his people, the flock he shepherds." How directly this ties into the Jn 10 quote!)

We can't help listening to somebody. But to whom do we give heed? Who do we allow to lead us? Who do we trust? Whose will is really in our best interest?

Don’t we tend to trust primarily in our own understanding and follow our own desires? Haven't we exalted our own ability to figure out how the world works above our need to heed something as old-fashioned and outdated as scripture or church teaching? We've concluded that we have the ability to fully understand the world, and we reject anything that doesn't fit into that understanding as primitive superstition.

Oh, what pain we cause and experience when we listen to the wrong voice!

Sometimes I struggle . . .

. . . but describing the struggle honestly is a challenge, and I suspect may be very important.

Sometimes I struggle to be the man I want to be.

Sometimes I struggle to be the man I should be.

Sometimes I struggle to be the husband my wife deserves.

Sometimes I struggle to be the man God calls me to be.

Sometimes I struggle to really want to be the man I should be, the husband my wife deserves, the man God calls me to be.

Sometimes I struggle to believe that I’ll really be happier being the man I should be, the husband my wife deserves, the man God calls me to be.

Sometimes I struggle to believe that the aggregate comfort/pleasure/excitement/experiences I’m afraid to miss out on in the world is really less than the joy I can only know in the Lord. (Is that, at its core, an issue of whether I really do believe in Christ? Yes, I've structured my life around Him - daily prayer & scripture reflection, faith groups, music & outreach ministry, commitment to family. I even know I have no other hope. Still, how fully do I believe in my Savior?)

Perhaps the real problem is that sometimes I’d rather not bother to struggle at all.

I know this: honestly considering the issue is better than ignoring it.

"Lord, I do believe. Help my unbelief!" (Mk 9, 24)

The most necessary gift

I've found myself reflecting of late on a number of things that Jesus said and did, and at least one passage written in His name, and how they relate to this wonderful feast of Pentecost, celebrated last Sunday. This will likely tie into some of my posts of the last several months.

This guy (sorry, Lord, for applying such an ordinary term to You) - who some people claim had no agenda other than to free us of the burden of religion - said and inspired things like:

- If you love me, you will keep my commands
- But I say, whoever looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart
- If your brother strikes you on the right cheek, turn and offer him the left, as well
- (forgive) . . . seventy times seven times
- Be perfect, as my heavenly Father is perfect
- Love one another as I have loved you
- As the Father has sent me, so I send you
- Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church
- You shall love the Lord, your God, with your whole heart, your whole soul, your whole strength, and your whole mind (emphasis mine; which of us manages the whole part?)

Do these things sound like a lessening of our burden, with regard to religion? And yet, I agree that they are! How can this be?

Firstly, our chief burden is not that of adhering to the rules. Rather, it is our own sin, its eternal effect upon us - from which Christ has delivered us by his sacrifice, offered once for all - plus its effects in this world, which are not so escapable!

Secondly, Jesus doesn't expect us any person to live up to these standards by our own effort. Rather, God Himself dwells within us when we invite the Holy Spirit into our lives. This Spirit is the flame of God's love, and breathes the eternal life of God's love into us. The most physically, intellectually, and emotionally gifted person, determined to strive with all their being to live up to the sort of standards listed above, will fail. But the humblest person, knowing him/herself utterly unable of living as we are called, who simply trusts in and follows God's Spirit (who never contradicts Christ's teaching, btw) dwelling within, will be seen to succeed beyond their dreams, even if they themselves remain aware only of their shortcomings.

The primary goal of the Spirit-filled life is not to live as we ought, but to draw us deeper into right relationship with God (which will encompass our relationships with others, as well). Living as we are called is the result of being transformed into God's sons and daughters by the Holy Spirit, and is the means of the Spirit's further transformation.

Next best thing

The last four years, I've joined a group of my friends for a "relaxing little bike ride" on Mother's Day weekend, TOSRV: 100+ miles each on Saturday and Sunday. This year, I have a conflict, as I'm singing in what looks to be a really cool wedding late on Saturday afternoon. But my cycling friends are helping me still be part of the event. A couple of them decided to ride the 60+ miles from here to Columbus, the ride's starting point, on Friday. So I'll join them for their ride tomorrow, hang out with them tomorrow night, and when they embark Saturday morning on the formal ride, I'll head back here. I should be back hours ahead of the wedding, and get to participate in two things that would otherwise be mutually exclusive.

And it's finally looking as if all the online weather folks agree that the rain will stop in plenty of time for us to stay mostly dry! Woo-hoo!

E5MAN

Tom, be forewarned: just 'cause I've spent a week on this doesn't mean it's worth the wait, or contains many original thoughts!

The specific passage of Scripture that has had the most consistent and prolonged effect on my life is probably the 5^th chapter of the letter to the Ephesians. This has become a somewhat unpopular passage of late, because at first glance it appears to give women the short end of the stick. It contains the contemporarily notorious passage:

"Wives, submit to your husbands . . . "

I suppose that if this were its central message, men might have an excuse for the way we've misused this passage over the centuries. We've given women such good reason for hating it! I can understand why someone who considers themselves a modern thinker would come across those five words and just stop reading.

But this chapter's message to husbands is a challenge that too many of us have forsaken. Starting again with the quote above, it says,

"Wives, submit to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is head over his wife as Christ is head of His body, the church."

Again, taken on the surface, this looks to imply a superior/subordinate relationship, but reading on (and starting one verse sooner!) gives a different picture. If we consider for just a moment how Christ exercised his headship over the church - through love, forgiveness, service (using the basin and towel to wash his disciples feet, a chore from which even a slave was excused!) and ultimate sacrifice - we begin to get an inkling of what is coming. St. Paul will not be subtle about it:

"Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her . . ."

Now we begin to get to the heart of the matter. I've seen this paraphrased as

"Husbands, go the way of the cross for your wives."

Few of us approach our marriages this way, and I certainly don't hold myself up as a model. Our commitment to and love for our wives tends to be conditional: "As long as you don't hurt me too terribly," or, "As long as things balance out fairly evenly," or unconsciously, "As long as you continue to fill what is lacking in my own self-image." (Too often, what it really comes down to is, "As long as you remain willing to put up with my B.S.") These unspoken conditions have nothing in common with how Christ has loved us, nor with the sacramental calling of marriage, in which my partner and I are called to help one another grow in our love for the Lord together.

I don't seem able to go forward on this without looking back at how this past Lent led me to reflect anew on the way of the cross. It seems to me that it's more than just docilely accepting whatever pains may come. This Sunday we'll hear Jesus' post-resurrection words in the Gospel: "As the Father has sent me, so I send you." Jesus did not gullibly step down from the throne of glory to become a zygote in Mary's womb. Knowing full well what we would do to him, the eternal Son stepped into time, choosing to bear the unspeakable hurt we would inflict on him, even to the point of feeling utterly abandoned by the One with whom He'd been united ere time began. All this He did for one reason only: out of Love for us, He chose was best for us.

If I'm to love (my bride or anyone else) as Christ has loved the church, I should know in advance that my beloved will hurt me deeply. This hurt will be not always be incidental; sometimes it will be the result of conscious, self-centered decisions which my beloved knows will be severely hurtful to me. She may justify them by convincing herself that I won't find out, or blame me for the emotional environment that leads her to them. (In fact, the deepest hurts my wife ever inflicted upon me were rooted in my failure to love her as I should have. That doesn't excuse her hurtful decisions, but underscores my calling to respond in love.) Regardless, I must choose - in advance, and again as they happen - to respond to those hurtful actions in the way that is best for my beloved. It should be obvious that this doesn't mean being an enabler of unhealthy behaviors; that isn't best for my partner. Still, I must somehow respond to those hurts in other than the instinctive, self-protective manner that causes me to withdraw rather than continue to love in the way that is best for her. This, incidentally, will also be the way that best leads both of us deeper into the holiness to which we are called and for which we are sacramentally joined.

How appropriate to be writing these words during the novena before Pentecost! This sort of loving is only possible by the grace of the Holy Spirit. God's insane love is beyond our human capacity, save by God's very Self dwelling within us, transforming us into Christ's body.

And what is the purpose of Christ loving the church - and our loving our wives - in this way?

"Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to
sanctify her . . . that she might be holy and without blemish."

The purpose of sacramental marriage is to build one another up in holiness, manifesting Christ's love by the Holy Spirit at work in us individually, in our relationship with one another, in the most basic church community - the family God raises up through our manifestation of His love - and in the larger community.

Wouldn't our wives be a whole lot more comfortable with their portion of Ephesians 5 if we men were to live out our part? It isn't that I could ever insist on my wife's obedience; it's that I am to love her with the love of Christ, and to His love she and I are both to be subject. In fact, verse 21 tells us to submit to one another!

We're too unwilling to be transformed by love in this way, to lay ourselves down for our wives. We're afraid of being crucified, of being crushed, of becoming selfless, or even just of missing out on "something better," as if there could be anything better! We see the degree of pain and suffering that our Savior bore for us, and we do not choose it. We choose illusory, temporary comfort or pleasure in place of lasting, eternal, unifying love.

But what if loving in the way of the cross turns out to be the only possible way to experience the greatest joy we could ever know? What if that's the only way for anyone to become the whole person God dreams for them to become?

And as this Scripture makes clear, when we hurt our spouse, we hurt ourselves.

Oh, enough already. There's more in this scripture passage than I can pontificate on even in a megapost like this! As for the post title, that would be my license plate. More at e5men.org

"Favorite" scriptures

I've been reflecting on this idea of committed, even sacrificial love, or loving with the will, as I alluded to in a Holy Week post. First, some more background, as these thoughts have been brewing for a while.

Most Christians have certain scripture passages to which they frequently turn, sometimes different verses for different occasions. For instance, I love praying the Psalms. Each morning I pray the 24^th (Advent/Christmas), 100^th (Easter), or 95^th (most of the rest of the year). The 121^st and (of course) 23^rd are a great encouragement in times of difficulty. And Psalm 51 is a wonderful, humble prayer for forgiveness. One of the things I love about praying the Psalms is knowing that, as a devout Jew, Jesus prayed them daily, too; he's even been quoted as praying them on the cross. Since he was sinless, I imagine him praying Ps 51 and the other penitential psalms on my behalf.

Of course, there are many passages from both the Hebrew and Greek scriptures (a.k.a. Old and New Testaments, respectively) that reveal wondrous things about our loving God. The book of the prophet Hosea, the prophecies of Isaiah, the Pentateuch; Christians believe all of the ancient scriptures were and are intended to help us recognize Christ for who He is. And of course, the Gospels contain so much wisdom and reveal so much. Because of St. Paul's writing style, some of the epistles can be a challenge, but working through them reveals great treasures. The latter part of Romans 8 was, literally, my lifeline for a time.

The treasures of scripture are so vast and deep that we likely do them an injustice trying to single out one, two, or a handful that are our "favorites," as if we'd relegate the rest to a less important place. Still, there is a specific passage that probably I most often try to apply to my life.

That's a topic that deserves its own post.

A new pattern?

Over the past two-plus decades, I've found my spirituality characterized by fits and spurts. I'll hum along for a few weeks, a couple months, having fairly consistent prayer time for a while, then have prolonged periods in which I pursue other interests - some merely unfocused, others downright otherwise-directed.

There's not much doubt about the reason. I've certainly resisted being transformed in all the ways I believe God is calling me. I think I've been convinced, as I think we tend to be prone to (and to put it in the most basic terms), that I'm going to miss out on the real fun, comfort, excitement, etc., if I become "too saintly," as if that were possible. Of course, that's a pretty immature view of God, myself, and the world.

In recent years, I've noticed my more focused times have tended to occur in Advent and Lent; the rest of the year I've been more susceptible to spiritual aimlessness. These more penitential and preparatory seasons seemed to grab and hold my spiritual attention, and give me a hunger to become more than I have been. But within a couple weeks after Christmas or Easter, I would again be drifting into old patterns, uncommitted to my prayer time and thus easily distracted in my walk.

This Easter season seems different and wonderful. Perhaps its because of a deeper Lent, in which I consciously strove to view as more deeply rooted in grace than in my own efforts. Regardless of the cause, as we approach the feast of the Ascension (now observed on Sunday in our archdiocese), I have indeed seen myself begin to drift as before. But instead of going there, I've found an openness to grace that, at least for now, has overcome my past pattern. Instead of being easily squeezed out of my morning prayer time, it has become a consistent part of each morning. I've become committed to it in a new way. I don't mean "with a new tenacity," but in a less gut-it-out, more natural, peaceful way. So rather than gradually becoming routine marked by increasing distraction and detachment, I've found it gifted time to really encounter and soak in God's presence each day.

I don't pat myself on the back for this. I don't believe it is my doing, but God's grace. A funny paradox, that. We must participate in grace for it to bear fruit in our lives, yet that participation is, in itself, a gift of grace.

I suppose it's the chicken and the egg.