What good are questions without answers?
What good are answers without questions?
Two sides of the same coin, they provide balance in our seeking. Answers, no matter how clear or compelling, still beg the questions:
What if?
What now?
Why?
And questions, no matter their breadth and depth or cosmic inspiration, yearn for at least the hint of an answer.
The big questions, what should I do with my life, what should my vocation be, who should I spend my life with, what’s the point of it all-- are questions we wonder and think about, the ones that won’t leave us alone. They are part of the big Mystery we are drawn to.
We find ourselves frustrated, even exasperated, as we seek answers to questions that seem to have no answer, or at least, not the answer that we want.
But is that really true?
Sometimes we have to live the question, knowing the question itself is part of the answer.
Part of the process that allows us in time to understand the difference between what we want and what we need.
Embracing the Mystery in search of answers reveals while we may be along for the ride, we are not in charge.
We do not have to open our eyes, minds and hearts so wide to at least suspect if not believe, that there is something in the universe greater than us; greater than our capacity to understand the invisible that lives within and beyond what we can see.
Something is going on behind the curtain of our consciousness.
We can hear it in the rustle of leaves, in the hush of twilight. Inhaling and exhaling, there are those times when we feel the eternal breath wash over us if but only for a fleeting moment.
We become aware that we do not control outcomes. Even if we do everything right, a failed relationship, the unexpected loss of a loved one or some other personal catastrophe leaves us bewildered and lost. Our careful calculations, the premium insurance policy we purchased, and even our religious beliefs and professions are often not enough when sorrow and suffering come calling.
Every day hundreds of thousands of people like us all over the world leave for work and other activities not realizing that they will not be returning to the place they call home. The goodbyes they offered their spouses and children would be the last they would give voice to in this life.
There are those moments when we have run out of time. Our backs against the wall and the last of our hope almost gone, a thread of light pierces the dark night of our soul.
What we thought was the end, turns out to be a new beginning.
In the deepest part of ourselves, we desire an ultimate connection to the hidden order of things, a sense of relationship that will allow us to feel more at home in the world we inhabit.
We keep climbing the ladders set before us, climbing up and falling down, falling down and climbing up.
No matter how many times we try or how high we ascend, we come to know that what we seek is not a high mark of achievement, not even where we started from, but where we are returning to.
The straight line of success we thought we wanted turns instead, to be a circle that leads us back to restoration and reconciliation with where we began.
Leaving and returning are timeless themes in our living out the big questions of our lives.
We have to leave in order to return to the place a part of us has never left.
We hope for a welcome mat, not a locked door.
Asking the right questions is more important than the answers we seek.
We know less than we think we do.
It’s not about how long we live or how many trophies we have acquired, but instead about how deeply we have loved and generously we have given of ourselves away in service to others.

Bumper stickers and billboards proclaim clever values that hide behind altered truth reflecting tribal rituals and propaganda.
Deception leads us to believe we can buy virtue on the cheap.
Like fake watches and sunglasses, we learn soon enough all that glitters isn’t gold.
Discernment, the ability to think for oneself, to carefully consider different points of view, to be
able to tell the difference between what is true and what is false.
The greatest challenge is the deception we find looking back at us in our bathroom mirrors. 
The biggest lies we tell to ourselves.
 
From within and without, deception begins its dance of seduction with a smidgen of truth. The wisp of authenticity hovers about as the lie grows into envy, prejudice, greed or some other malignancy.
Children tell the truth until we teach them to hide their feelings.
Where simply being a child is no longer valued.
It does not take long for them to worry more about what others think than what they think of themselves.
Performance not play becomes the order of the day.
Natalia Ginzburg believed we should be more discerning, emphasizing a different approach with our children and ourselves, one that focuses on the “little virtues.”
Courage as opposed to caution.
Frankness and a love of the truth as opposed to shrewdness, cleverness and accommodation.
Loving our neighbors and denying ourselves more than being tactful.
“To be” and “to know” more than being obsessed with success.
Sacrifices made for doing good often have no external reward.
 Corrupt and evil deeds may go unpunished and even rewarded with fame and fortune.
Still, we must love good and resist evil.
It is not unusual to be misunderstood and even suffer injustice for trying to do good.
It only matters that we do not commit injustice ourselves.
 
We would agree that Natalia Ginzburg’s “little virtues” are values to live by.
That is what we would say. But what do we do?
 
Contradictions abound: the values we cherish on Sundays and other holy days as opposed to the way we live and work the other six days of the week.
We are taught that we should share with those in need, but Monday through Friday, “God helps those who help themselves.”
On Sunday we love our neighbor. On Monday, it’s every man and woman for him or herself.
How do we temper our competitive spirit with a spirit of cooperation and generosity?
Competition and cooperation, individualism and community concern, self-interest and compassion for others.
Competition with myself, not with others.
When I have done my best-- all I can, that is all I can do.
Seeing myself in others, seeing them in me.
 
Endless desire barks at our heels breeding insecurity and mindless ambition.
Self-deception rewards our critical eye with a sense of entitlement, even victimhood.
Is life more than an infomercial offering junk food for the soul and a sweet tooth for envy?
Self-discernment leans not only into our own understanding and insight, but listens for the still, small voice that leads us toward timeless truths that bring balance and contentment.
Not the illusion of perfection, but a reconciling wholeness that can be felt and experienced more than explained.

Out of the corner of your eye, you sensed the truck was going to run the red light. In the nano second
you froze before stepping on the gas—BAM!

You thought things were getting serious . . . in a good way. Love or something like it was in the air. Time to take the next step. Time to make your move. Except. In a hidden corner of your heart you thought you might have heard a barely audible hissing. Probably your imagination. Until after the last sip of the house wine you were both drinking, someone said—BAM-- “I’m leaving.”

You worked long and hard for the promotion, leaving no doubt you had traveled the extra mile more
than once. You deserved it. Everyone said so. Until the boss flicked a sidewise glance toward Nancy
before announcing his decision. It was—BAM-- the flaming flick of a dream-busting arsonist who burned you to the ground.

More than once, in one way or another, the big BAM sneaks up when we’re not looking and blind-sides us, leaving a broken heap of next to nothing. Where do we go then? Where do we take our Humpty Dumpty selves to be put back together?

Strange as it may seem, sometimes we have to be broken in order to become open.

Open to something else, something different, something we didn’t expect.

Our friends can comfort us. Counselors can counsel us. Our pastors can pray for us. And physicians can even medicate us.

All of these can be good and worthy things, but in the end, still not enough.

Leaving us issues to face and personal work to do.

No one else can fill the hole we or someone else dug for us.

Sometimes we have to walk the lonesome valley of life all by ourselves—at least part of the way.

Our loved ones may complement the qualities that make us who we are, but they can’t complete us.

Completion, not perfection. Going inside, not looking outside.

We can start by trying to be honest. Taking our masks off one by one.

And not pretending to be someone else.

We can quit hiding the lies that live in our closet until they take up all the room in our lives.

In the end, nobody cares. Why should they? Why should we?

We can learn to let go of what we think others think about us.

We can even learn to let go of what we think about ourselves.

We open our eyes, heart and mind – leaving the fast lane, and entering the vast lane.

We take a different fork in the road.

Even if we are afraid, we take it anyway.

Sure thing. No thing. Some thing.

The thing-ness of whatever it is passes in time.

We don’t have to go along for the ride.

We can stay put.

The Universe knows more than we do.

We can rest in quiet of timeless moment.

Clouds of misperception and confusion don’t have to carry us away.

The sky remains when storms pass.

We can remain with it.

And let the big Mystery live within us.

We can see and feel wider and deeper.

Holding on with a light touch and learning to let go,

We can trust something greater than ourselves.

We can breathe.

​We can be.

We can never quite forget the feel and smell of home, even if we have never really felt at home. We still have imagined how it would be. Home sweet home. Home is where the heart is. Childhood memories. Sacred memories. Memories, particular and selective though they may be, help keep us together in the midst of life’s craziness. An image of a home remembered—or if that isn’t possible, at least a home hoped for—keeps us going in the ups and downs of our adult lives. Sunburned and exhausted, we find that the summer vacation, like life itself, finally winds down the road to the place from whence we came. The house from which we were so eager to escape becomes instead the home which we long to return to – a place of security and comfort, a place we know and where we are known. Maybe that is what our lives are really all about—our search for a home where the welcome mat at the front door has our name on it. Not someone else’s, but our own name carefully etched, a special invitation that welcomes the me that is unique into the equality of community that is us.

Perhaps we are all in one way or another, prodigal sons and daughters, good and bad, trying to find
where we belong. Who knows, maybe it is all part of the plan. The fast-track career and the good deal
we negotiated may both just be ways, sometimes even desperate ways, we try to create hope for
ourselves on our life’s journey. Maybe if the deals are good enough, we can somehow come to feel good enough about who we are, not to deal at all and begin to feel at home within ourselves. Of course, it isn’t likely to work that way. Maybe that’s also why it wasn’t until the prodigal son ran out of money and the world’s answers that he was finally able to find his way home. Like him, we have to do two things: Remember the peace and security of the place from whence we came, even it seems mostly like a dream, and act on the faith of that memory. Coming to grips with who we are and what we are about is also part of our coming home. Honest self-appraisal and genuine questioning encourages the compassion and grace that will in the end, guide us homeward.

Adapted from Journey Homeward :Stages Along the Way (Wipf and Stock, 2018)

It is worth remembering that looks fade and skills deteriorate, that neither form nor function nor perfection matter as much as completion and wholeness. St. Paul didn’t say, “I won the race” but rather, “I finished the race.” In the end we are encouraged to remember that it is not about how many trophies we capture, souls we win, or jewels we earn for our crown in the hereafter but about these questions: Did we do what we could to help the least of us even when the least of us is ourselves? Did we choose the unchosen to be on our teams and in our lives? Did we give cups of cool water and feed the sheep? We were commissioned to do these things.

The sacred suggests that God is looking at us. The holy, as Rumi writes, “is nearer to you than the look in your eye,” or in the words of Tennyson, as Randall Stewart notes, “closer than breathing, nearer than hands and feet,” transcendent yet immediately present at once. The holy invites us, like Ishmael in Moby Dick, to seek possibility rather than certainty, to let go of our preconceptions, our vanity, prizes, and public place, because in the end we will all travel light. And what do we know for sure? All we can do is grasp this world lightly and let go of our sacred training wheels with humor, humility and gratitude.
​
From Robert J. Higgs and Michael Braswell.  An Unholy Alliance: The Sacred and Modern Sports published by Mercer University Press.
 
“It is worth remembering that looks fade and skills deteriorate . . . that neither form nor function nor perfection matter as much as completion and wholeness.”

​First, fear. Everything follows and grows from fear’s seed corn. The fear of what others think, the fear of what others might do, the fear of the Other—the one who doesn’t look, speak, think or worship like me. Different places bring different faces. Because I like to eat tacos or sushi, doesn’t mean I welcome folks from south of my border or from the far East.

And the fear that I am not liked, respected or approved of. If only I were bigger, richer, better looking, more talented, more successful—it must be someone’s fault. Not mine. It must be them, the ones who are different from me.

Sometimes fear and prejudice are inherited, oozing down the family tree from those who came before me, inviting me to pass it on to those who come after me. It’s easy enough to do, to some extent, perhaps even inevitable.

Circumstance may also play a role. A lost job, broken marriage, or other disappointment offers one the opportunity to take responsibility and pick up the pieces—or look for something else—someone else to blame.

Fears may simmer into a collective stew of grievance, bringing over time, my blame game to a full boil, inviting my grievance to glom onto the grievances of others. Our sense of grievance can become communal, an association of like-minded persons nurtured by victimhood that gives voice to the possibility of more malevolent incarnations.

Personal fear’s evolution into collective grievance finds its voice in expressions of anger and protest, and searches with jaundiced eye for a holy or divine cause and justification. Holy wars are often inspired by hyper- patriotism, nationalism, religion, race, or some form of political ideology.

The question becomes: Where do we go from here?

The winding snake of grievance inevitably looks for a place, someone, to strike. Unchecked, grievance can easily enough morph into various strains of hate and from hate, it’s only a short skip and a hop to thoughts, then plans, then acts of violence. Personal fears, collective grievance, perceived victimization, along with growing self-delusion and paranoia fed by a cornucopia of conspiracies, nudge the angry herd forward.

The bonding of our fear with the anger of others, allows us to feel more secure in a like-minded group, even a mob whether on a rampage destroying and burning businesses in Portland or smashing windows and storming the capitol building in Washington. Of course, when apprehended, the mob of looters or rioters is not put on trial. Instead, reality and responsibility circles back around to the individual. The shouts, high-fives, and placards disappear. Aside from a lawyer, one stands alone before the Judge.

The question remains: Where can we go from here? 

Is there another path to take? Is there another way to respond to fear and grievance, another way to resolve what ails us, personally and collectively?

Sometimes we forget that when we feel anger, we also become anger—anger becomes us. Before a violent act occurs, it is first considered, even rehearsed, in one’s head. I cannot kill someone I have come to hate until I have first killed them in my mind. First feeling, then thinking, then acting.

Discernment, a forgotten concept and term for many, could be a good place to start. Discernment, the ability to think clearly, to weigh different points of view, to be able to tell the difference between what is true and what is false, to have balance in one’s reasoning. 

Not slogans and bumper stickers, but substance and insights and more nuanced understanding. Perhaps, an outcome of such a process, might even result in me changing my mind. If I–we–cannot change our minds, how can we change anything for the better. The earth will remain flat, the moon made of cheese and so on. Great passion without enduring compassion can lead to cruelty and violence whether by the cross or the gas chamber or the innocent victim hanging from a tree. While we may be inspired by the national pride of a grand military exhibition or parade, what we don’t see marching are the families missing loved ones killed in the war or the wheel chairs of the maimed and wounded. We can honor those who sacrificed for our well-being by resolving to solve the problems that led to the conflict in the first place, true for families and nations.

Pride has become a virtue, often false pride. It’s not who has the biggest bank account, but who has the biggest heart that in the end, matters most. Excluding creates grievance. Including encourages understanding and respect. Compassion and humility heals. Pride goes before the fall. Building bridges works better than burning buildings. Hate consumes and destroys. Love expands and makes whole.

Are we here to serve or be served?

Whether we like it or not, we are all passengers in the same boat. We are connected, the best of us and the worst of us, in ways we cannot see or even imagine. We don’t control outcomes, only our intentions.

So why don’t we try harder to put our good intentions into action?

In the old days, pride was considered to be one of the seven deadly sins. Now, it seems to have become a virtue.
I’m proud to be an American, a member of this or that race or religion or anything else I’m partial to. 
There is even such a thing as “criminal pride,” getting something over on someone else, getting away with dishonesty and criminal acts. It’s only wrong if one gets caught.
T-shirts, banners, yard signs and bumper stickers promote our personal brand, the high regard with which we hold ourselves and our kind.
Are we brands to be promoted or are we human beings to be experienced? 
Are we more in touch with what we are grateful for or what we are proud of?
Do our children experience us placing a greater emphasis on them making good grades or being kind?
Too often, we are driven by fear. The fear of not being good enough. The fear of not being accepted. And we pass that fear onto our children, an insatiable desire to please and be in the middle of the herd, unaware of where it’s going or why it is going there.
Can we become reacquainted with kindness and a generosity of spirit? A word of encouragement, a gift of our time and our resources, a welcoming embrace that allows us to become more than we imagined we could be.

From: The Memory of Grace (Borderland Books, 2018)