Apophatica

In his book, The Final Beast, Frederick Buechner writes of Nicolet who bangs an erratic rhythm and asks his friend, Denbigh if he could dance to it if it were the only music that could be heard.  Denbigh replies that he supposes he could, but he’s not quite sure what his friend is talking about.  Nicolet admits that he really doesn’t either.  

“But whatever this is we move around through. . .” He raked his hand slowly back and forth through the air.”  “Reality . . . the air we breathe . . . this emptiness . . . If you could get hold of it by the corner somewhere, just slip your fingernail underneath and peel it back enough to find what’s there behind it, I think you’d be—“

If only we could all write like Buechner.  

What would we find if we were to peel back the corner?  Buechner’s character leaves the door open to endless possibilities.  

Can we let go of the stories that we have inherited or created?  Can we be ok with what we see beneath?  We may just realize the people we thought we knew weren’t who we thought they were.  We may also find that we weren’t either.  Why hide from ourselves?  After all, all things come into the light eventually.

Reality should be held loosely.  For too long have we held on to our own versions of reality so tightly that we can feel it crack in our palms.  We create stories in our minds and tell ourselves that they are truth and not merely the musings of our fragile egos.  

I have known realities.  And I have seen them disappear like fog being cut by the sun.  I have held on to truths.  And I have felt them run through my fingers like sand while my fingernails dug into my palms.  

If our feet are planted so firmly on the ground and our fingers are locked in a death grip, then how can we take the hand of another and dance?  

Nicolet answers some of this sense of wonder after thinking briefly:

“I think the dance that must go on back there,” Nicolet began, “way down deep at the heart of space, where being comes from . . . There’s dancing there, Denbigh. My kids have dreamed it. Emptiness is dancing there. The angels are dancing. And their feet scatter new worlds like dust.” 

I wonder what these worlds would look like.  Walking away from the old ones makes room for the new, whatever that may be.  If only we could let go of being so sure and learn to embrace the mystery, we just might see these worlds take form before our very eyes and hear the gentle clack-clack of angels’ feet just beyond the ether.

Extra ecclesium nulla salus.  

There is no salvation outside of the church.  

This proclamation set a standard for “the church” to dictate who is in and who is out; who is saved and who is damned.  Sadly, this misguided ideology hasn’t worn off much over the years and we have been left with an image of a church that is guarded, judgmental, and hateful.  

I would argue that the idea of “the church” is a fallacy to begin with.  There are many churches,  but not one church.  It is unfortunate that the pervading thought is that there is one church with such a reputation and arguably, deservedly so.  

But what is the alternative?  What would “the church” look like if we were to build it again today?  What would a good template be for individual bodies and communities that seek to be who they are called to be?  

I can recall marching in the Chicago Pride Parade wearing my clerical collar with cutoff sleeves and shorts and having people hug me with tears in their eyes as they thank me for accepting and loving them.  While this is touching, it isn’t right.  Nobody should have to thank anyone for accepting them for the beautiful creation that they are.  

Many churches (though far from all or even enough) have become more open, accepting, and welcoming.  There is a high degree of tolerance, but something is still greatly lacking.  There is a hope for something more like the plea of Pink and Nathan Ruess, “Just give me a reason, just a little bit’s enough just to say that we aren’t broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again.”

I think that’s a big part of it: LOVE.  Love is not exclusive.  Love is not even tolerant.  Love is purely relational and this includes people we don’t agree with and people who are not like us in whatever way.  

1 John 4:17-21 says: 

“Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us. Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.”

We need to turn to the core needs of all people when considering building the church.  One of those core needs is love.  We need a safe space to wrestle with the deep difficult questions without fear of being ostracized or fed empty platitudes.  We need a place to marry our intellect with our feelings and yearnings and not have to exclude either.  We need genuine and real community where we can experience connection.  We need room to wander with reassurance that we are still at home and home will be there when we return from our wandering.

I cannot claim to know exactly what this church should look like.  We see glimpses of it in churches that we know and attend, but there is still more that is needed.  What would it look like to not merely be welcoming, but to co-create this community with those who are already there, with those who stumble upon them in their wanderings, and with God?

We have become more and more comfortable with accepting people of other faiths, but are still extremely squeamish with people who approach Jesus in their own unique ways.  It seems that we need to learn to be open to people entering the church with their own mindset and relationships with Jesus and be comfortable and radically welcoming of it.

In fact, we use the language of welcoming for people to come into “our” churches.  But is the church really ours?  Indeed it is not “ex ecclesium nulla salus,” but instead we too are guests on this holy ground prepared for us by God.

What of contemplative practices?  We often turn to eastern religions when wanting to experience at-one-ment with God, the universe, our True Selves, and all that is beyond us.  We seek enlightenment, but overlook the practices that are a part of our own tradition.  Why not embrace all of these practices and delve into them with a great sense of wonder and intentionality?  

Meditate that we might become enlightened.  Do yoga that the kundalini may be full realized within.  Live into the True Self while feeling the white light pour down upon your crown chakra and through you to the ground of being.  And at the same time, embrace the centering prayer, mantras, and all of the contemplative practices of Christianity reflected when Jesus tells us that we are the light of the world, that light dwells within us, and the Kin-dom of God is already a reality waiting to be birthed from within us.

What is the fear?  Why not let go and as Howard Thurman reminds us, trust the ru’ah hakodesh?  Let’s have a conversation and start co-creating this thing together.  Let’s do this that we may hear the “sound of the genuine in one another” and “So that when I look at myself through your eyes having made that pilgrimage, I see in me what you see in me and the wall that separates and divides will disappear and we will become one because the sound of the genuine makes the same music.” 

Journeys are important; both the outward ones and the inward ones.

I am coming off of the Lenten journey which was an inward journey to begin my sabbatical journey which is both.  I want it to be a meaningful trek toward beauty with those that I care for as well as an odyssey toward the immortal diamond that awaits within and gets ever brighter with each inward step.

I need this to be as intentional as it can be as I sit in monasteries of various faiths in silence, with the chant of psalms on my lips, or with the echoes of The Hymn of the Cherubim in acoustic reverence – be it from the sound of speakers or the lips of actual angels.

I need it to be genuine as I hike mile after mile never failing to be in awe of the vistas that lay before me in their natural splendor or of the person grasping my hand next to me.

I need to go as deep as possible into my inner well when bringing pen to paper or fingers to keyboard as I write my way across the internal abyss toward my true self.

To do these things I have to stay present and aware in each moment.  I have recently found that there is a question that helps me to achieve this sometimes elusive task: What am I curious about right now?  I often say that questions create an immediate shift and this one brings me back to center and present.

I can recall hearing Philip Yancey say at the Princeton Writer’s Workshop that most writers are writing to a question and they only sometimes get to an answer.  That’s the beauty of living in the mystery.  I don’t need to find the answer, but at least having a question makes me take the first step on the journey because, after all, every journey begins with a single step.

So, whether it be in the spirit of John Niles or Langston Hughes, I will “wonder as I wander” and remain fully aware of the effulgence that is beaming around me, next to me, and within me. 

Something doesn’t seem right.

This story in Acts where Paul casts the demon out of a girl because she is annoying him. Even though she is speaking truth about Paul being the “slave of the Most High God,” something doesn’t sit well with him and he decides to cast out the spirit that has given her the ability to peek into the future and speak a little deeper into the truth.

It isn’t much of a surprise that the slave owner doesn’t appreciate Paul taking away his source of income. It isn’t shocking that they spoke out against he and Silas and got them put in prison for acts unbecoming a Roman citizen. What does disturb me, though, is that Paul does absolutely nothing about the systems that are in place that led to the girl being enslaved in the first place.

One could say that Paul was in a hurry and focusing on his main task of preaching the gospel and so didn’t have time to stop for this disruption. Others may say that Paul was against slavery, and may even point out his plea for Onesimus to Philemon in Colossians, but it didn’t ultimately change the system. Maybe he was just saving it for later . . . .

How many times have we heard stories of Christian missionaries being captured or killed by militants in the lands where they were bringing the gospel? How many have wept over the loss of these martyrs who died for their great faith? Yet, how many have turned a blind eye to the indigenous peoples in these lands who have been subverted by those in power? It seems that we could stand a little work in getting our priorities straight.

Paul and Silas’s story seem to get better, though. After being put in the deepest darkest recesses of the prison, they sing their way to freedom as the walls collapse in a sudden earthquake. Hallelujah! God’s chosen ones are free at last! But this isn’t a cause for rejoicing for the jailer who knows he is doomed for failing at his job.

Before he can take his own life, Paul comforts the man and assures him that his is forgiven.

“What must I do to be saved?” he asks.

“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ,” Paul replies.

What does this even mean? Subscribe to a particular assent about who Jesus was? Or is it to embrace the gospel that Jesus espoused about releasing the captives, bringing freedom to the oppressed and sight to the blind? If it’s the latter, then it seems that Paul has failed to live the gospel himself.

This passage has been preached on so many times and so many times the Church has gotten giddy with excitement when Paul and Silas break free and the jailer becomes one of their first converts. But what about the girl? Why is she so easily forgotten?

It seems like a wonderful thing at face value when the jailer and his family are baptized into the faith. After all, if we can bring the oppressor into our fold, then everything will be ok. But just then we remember that some of the most oppressive, homophobic, racist people have been Christians. And so we move on looking for another place in this passage to find hope.

Maybe this passage isn’t about what was done right, but more about what could have been done better. Sure, it’s not completely devoid of reason for celebration, but so much was left on the table. We could find a lesson here about reaching out to those in power and asking them what it is they fear. What is it that scares them into wanting to have a death grip on the illusion of control at all costs?

Perhaps its about Paul’s unwillingness or inability to let go of the idea that he can’t do something. Did he feel too inadequate to affect change big enough to shift entire systems? It’s quite possible that he felt that there was nothing that he could do anyway, so he just let things be and moved on. Is he any different from most of us?

Paul and Silas’s adventure here is crying out for awareness. It’s calling us to experience that metanoia from “can’t” to “must”.

Whether this was Paul’s mindset or not, this passage is a reminder of each and every time that we have seen an injustice and kept going, telling ourselves that there is nothing that we could do anyway. Who are we to think we can affect change?

If I practice this on myself, I have to ask what I can do. I’m only one person, after all, and there’s not likely to be a whole lot of an impact that I can make. Or maybe this is just an excuse for my own fear of being inadequate. And so I ask myself anyway.

Maybe this passage is calling me to ask myself the right questions and to see that I actually can make a difference. I’ve never thought of myself as having power and having grown up rather poor, I didn’t have any financial influence. But, I am a white cisgendered straight Protestant male and some would say that this automatically means that I am privileged. I can’t argue that. So maybe there is something I can do. After all, I recently heard somebody say that it isn’t only the oppressed who should be having conversations saying that things need to change.

So how about this: What if I reach to the margins and, like Fr. Greg Boyle suggested, learn from those in the margins and allow myself to be changed by them instead of trying to change them?

How about I encourage children to keep dreaming and encourage the adults around me to stop teaching them the word “can’t”?

What if I join others and revel in the innocence and creativity of youth instead of trying to change them and tell them that they need to quit having such grandiose ideas as world peace and the oneness of all people? What if I let them remain the humane human beings that they are and start to learn from them for a change?

What if I teach my boys that it’s not ok for men to use a woman’s body for their own gratification because that body comes with a heart, a soul, a mind all made in the beautiful image of a loving God and so much more?

What if I teach them that it’s ok to be vulnerable and that the adage that men should pull themselves up by their bootstraps and never show any emotion is a bunch of bull and that it only creates hurt people and that it really is true that hurt people hurt people and when those hurt people come into power then the hurt just spreads exponentially and systemically?

Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out. What can you do?