Here and there in the world
And now and then in ourselves
It is hard to miss that there is something terribly wrong in the world right now. And it is very easy to miss the reality that there is something extraordinarily good and beautiful appearing in the world right now. In a nutshell, that is the tragedy and promise of the spiritual life – that something so disturbingly rash and evil can be so controlling and engrossing, while something all-powerful and good can appear so subtle, fleeting, and mostly hidden (and also a naïve idea to most, if it is ever expressed).
Whether it is our personal world of anxiety and stress, or the larger world of horrific violence and disaster, something terribly tragic keeps happening. And when the news (personal or global) is mercifully calm or even delightfully boring, we can still find ourselves merely skimming the surface of a deeper truth in this one, precious life each of us has. There is something Divine happening; we are all invited to join in; but we are otherwise engaged.
It might remind us of the characters in Jesus’ parable of the Great Banquet in which everything is set, all are invited, but all end up making excuses about why they cannot attend. Or, we might remember the words of Isaiah, “Behold, I am doing a new thing, now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” No, not really. Or it might call to mind Jesus’ enigmatic, core revelation, “The Kingdom of God is among you,” or, “The Kingdom of God is within you.” No, don’t perceive that right now, either.
That’s because the deepest Truth and Reality of our lives is subtle, fleeting, and usually hidden. But our engagement with most everything else in our lives can be brutal and all-consuming (war, terrorism, disease and broken relationships), or we can find ourselves riveted to trivia and meaningless distractions. As James Finley put it, “The essential never imposes itself; the inessential always imposes itself.”
This is completely understandable, and no judgment is intended. Like all human beings, I have been “consumed” by grief, doubt, worry, or ugliness many times in my life, and I know this will continue. But I am convinced, and other faithful people regularly remind me, that there is More. The door is always open to this More. And all are beckoned to enter: Israel, Gaza, Ukraine, Russia, Democrat, Republican, rich, poor….
But the door is also open, on the surface of our lives, to violence, revenge, and reactive self-centeredness. We all have to choose, but there is no choosing when one is consumed with anger, grief, anxiety, or terrifying violence – there is only reacting. Which is why we need each other – if you’re in quicksand, you need someone else to pull you out. And it is why many of us are drawn to contemplative practice: the opposite of contemplation is not action but reaction.
Shortly after World War II, the great theologian Paul Tillich preached a sermon that I recommend to everyone entitled, “The New Being.” In it, Tillich says, “We only want to communicate to you an experience we have had, that here and there in the world and now and then in ourselves there is a New Creation, usually hidden, but sometimes manifest.”
Perhaps shockingly, Tillich also says, “No religion matters, only a new state of things.” And, “No particular religion matters, neither ours nor yours. …A New Creation has occurred, a New Being has appeared; and we are all asked to participate in it.” Tillich quotes the Apostle Paul in saying that “neither circumcision nor uncircumcision matters.” Baptism doesn’t matter, circumcision doesn’t matter, no religious rites or secular ideologies matter, just the Reality that there is a Deeper Life and Truth that beckons all but never imposes, invites all but never forces.
This is our True Life; it shows itself only fleetingly and subtly “here and there in the world and now and then in ourselves;” if only we could turn aside and notice; if only we could be still and know; if only we could embody this New Creation ourselves.
To our anxious, distracted, and calculating minds, this seems like a ridiculous strategy for bringing peace into the world. That is the message in one of the most famous passages of all literature, which the Grand Inquisitor delivers to Christ in Dostoyevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov: Jesus was impractical and mistaken in leading such a small group of people and holding humans in such high esteem; the church can now improve on Jesus’ work by using the devil’s more effective tactics; and it’s all for the well-being of the world.
Christ remains silent throughout the Grand Inquisitor’s monologue, but when he rises to leave, Christ kisses the Inquisitor on “his bloodless, aged lips.” The Inquisitor, taken aback, responds hauntingly, “Go and do not come back… do not come back at all… ever… ever!”
("But I say to you, 'Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.'")Yesterday, my friends Marsha and Jim, who are visiting in Oregon, were in touch. Like all of us, they have been deeply disturbed by what we are all seeing in Israel and Gaza, not to mention in Ukraine and Russia, or Washington, D.C. Marsha sent a picture that she snapped from their car, “A beautiful rainbow, embodying so many prayers for a world gone mad.”
Yes, a world gone mad – we all see the insanity unfolding in our world (and sometimes in ourselves). But my friends see More. A reminder in the subtle, see-through colors of a fleeting sign, that “here and there in the world, and now and then in ourselves, there is a New Creation, usually hidden, but sometimes manifest.” This New Creation is the True Life of all people. It is a present reality that waits to be revealed in us. And could it be that the terrifying alternative is simply to say, “Go and do not come back… do not come back at all… ever… ever!”?
The Benedictine monk, John Main, taught a way of Christian meditation that he learned in the East. He suggested the use of a specific mantra, “Maranatha,” which is an Aramaic word used in the very last words of the New Testament. It means, “Come, Lord Jesus.”