. . . . vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
—Ecclesiastes 1:2 The perilous habit of aggrandizing self-gaze. The threat of believing we, on our own, can fill the earth with splendor, that we possess redemptive beauty. Indeed, we may. One could say we all possess such beauty. Everyone on earth, by their very nature—simply by be-ing here, in the body—helps to sanctify the world. Not that we can’t ruin things, instead. We can. We can make ourselves and everything around us ugly by acting out of misguided confidence. This idea is central to the scriptures, person after person exhibiting an inflated sense of their own importance starting right at the beginning with Adam and Eve. Even if our fore-parents had abided by every rule in the Garden, they would still have found themselves estranged from the source of all beauty. Their initiative to act independently (as all children finally must) might stir a sort of admiration in us. Yet, the offer from the Deceiver was to become like God. In other words, to become something other than what they were. Their motivation was a perversion of their innate goodness, a failure to recognize they were acceptable--enough, worthy—just as they were. Striving to be more, to know more, wasn’t necessary, and doing so involved a level of self-regard which has tempted every human being since. We just can’t help thinking the world is ours to grab. We think we can do anything we set our sights on just because we decide to. As if we could control outcomes. As if we could charm life into making us smarter, more desirable, more acceptable, wiser, richer, sexier. We may actually be all these things. But did we make it so? Or, do we even think we made it so? Human beings are incorrigible, it turns out. We strive to make ourselves MORE, think we ARE MORE, or desperately WANT MORE, all the while being oblivious to our intrinsic beauty which holds the power to redeem the world. Our beauty has been with us all along; it has never not been there. But we lost sight of it along the way. Jesus came to revive our awareness, to re-expose the truth of our beauty. His life with us imbued our lives once more with the divine excellence of our physical nature, our intrinsic selves, and our capacity to be in true relationship with others. We who live by faith need not grasp after what we are not but may humbly live into who we are in the image of God. Jesus’ message involved reminder after reminder that we are not as important as we sometimes make ourselves out to be. He told the story of the Pharisee and the Publican to make his point. When we draw attention to ourselves—boasting as the Pharisee to all who could see, “I pray twice a day and pay tithes on all I earn!”—we shallow ourselves, becoming no more than a shell made of what others can see. But if, like the humble Publican who withdrew discreetly to pray—“God, have mercy on me, a sinner”—we humbly focus not on ourselves but on God and God’s goodness alone, we may become something akin to ourselves, fleshy and authentic and inherently noble. These thousands of years later, those of us who think of the poor Publican are still awed by the excellence of his personhood, the way he dug deep into his depths, revealing them without focusing on them, without broadcasting himself. We feel we can truly know him. Which is the truth about vanity: staring into the hypnotic mirror of self-proclamatory regard denies others of our richness, our beauty the way God assesses it. Selfishness is always harmful, neither gaining for ourselves what we truly want--satisfaction--nor offering others what they really need--recognition. If clinging, striving, selfishness guides our actions, no one can live life well. The author of Ecclesiastes suggests it makes every one of our gestures empty. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can strive to look our best, be our best, and then forget about it. We can focus our time—beyond our time in front of the mirror—on recognizing others, reflecting their beauty. We can become mirrors of divine truth. Looking our best is an easy gift we give to the world. If we play it right, we may occasionally catch a glimpse of ourselves and see another bearer of humanity’s mantle of divine excellence. We may know, without over-looking, how beautiful we are and understand the part only we can play in the world’s redemption. Iris Reid
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"Martha, Martha!"
---Luke 10:41 I've been assured more than once---more than twice, even thrice---that God knows my name and wants to use it. He calls to me like a shepherd calls his sheep, and I can hear him because I know his voice. He leads me into green pastures, knows what's good for me, knit me together in my mother's womb, and sent me out to preach peace to the nations. I'm known as surely as Adam was in the garden when God hollered his name, calling him out of hiding. "All-ee-all-ee-in-come-free!" God has always wanted us nearby, like a mother, and a mother knows her children's names. But who anticipates God calling out our names so we'll snap to attention? "Iris! You get down here this minute!" Maybe you do. I confess to being sentimental, listening only for God to call me like a lover whispering tender mercies. "Stop that right now!" is NOT a phrase I imagine issuing forth from God's mouth to my ears. But what do I expect? It makes sense, especially when I'm ignoring him by being completely distracted. Evidently, a curt call is one way we are ushered to God's side for some loving. I think: Who hasn't collapsed from frustration working too hard, from worrying too hard? Who hasn't despaired fearing that needed help will never arrive? Who hasn't dreaded being crushed in their collapse? "Iris, Iris! You worry about so many things." It's true. I'm upset. My family is demanding, one friend might have cancer and another's son seems to be headed for jail. "Jesus!" I say. "What's the hold up? Set things right!" His answer comes in a name---my name---insisting he is near, always near, and the house is full of friends who have the answer. No matter what grief I bear, no matter the anger, no matter what frustrations I have with people, with circumstances, even with God himself---I was given a name. God speaks it with love. God calls us and calls us out, each of us, by name. We are known by the Mother who bore us. Even so, it's a surprise when she shouts up the stairs. And, there's no mistaking the message: "Snap to it, you! I'm waiting for you!" Iris Reid We live in the present, we dream of the future, but we learn eternal truths from the past.
---Maylin Soong Chiang Interesting, this idea eternal truths emerge from the past. They're eternal! Present as much in the future as in the past, and in the present when we could be awake to them if only we would try to be. Eternity, we think, is a far-off place, the Emerald City awaiting us at the end of a long road, or back home in Kansas where we really are loved, even if we didn't realize it or it didn't feel that way. But, the eternal lives close to us, as a pulse within our pulse, a breath within our breath. It's never not there, but always IS, just like it says. We can learn from eternity, sure, but we need to recognize it when we see it. Jesus said, "the Kingdom of God is at hand," meaning now, within our grasp--both a where and a when we can participate in. The Realm of God--infinite and eternal--is present every moment, a sort of parallel universe within and throughout ours which we can step into and help bring to light. If we believe in scripture, or simply the power of love to fuel positive change in the world, we recognize the Kingdom can only come to light if we choose to find it, seek it, sense it, and then share it. For, what good is a pulse if our life isn't shared? What good is our breath if we don't use it to speak loving words? The Realm of God sings resonant with the voices of mothers and fathers, activists for justice, teachers, prophets, librarians, mechanics, gardeners, garbage workers, nurses, and all children--everyone who seeks to calm, to heal, to set things right for themselves and the world around them. There's an alternative to our limited, sleepy vision, an antidote to dreariness, doubt, and despair. Eternity is here and now, embedded in our lives--present, past, and future--wherever we find ourselves, awake and willing to step into awareness. Iris Reid |
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