It is not lost on me that we are in a situation – a world crisis – the like of which has never presented itself in the entirety of my life. At the same moment I recognize that we are moving deeper into the season of Lent, a moment of opportunity to come to a more conscious understanding of the meaning of surrender.
I don’t want to talk about the coronavirus because facing it might call me to pay attention in a way that I am unaccustomed to functioning. I cannot, however, disregard all the warnings simply because I am a healthy person. While that is a true fact and I am aware of the great blessing of that reality, I cannot ignore the fact that I am approaching my seventy-second birthday and although I would like to ignore the implications of that in this situation, I do it at my peril. I need to pay attention to what I am eating and how much sleep I’m getting, etc. — if not for my own benefit, for the welfare of the three women with whom I live and for others with whom I interact.
In addition, I need to assess which of my activities I am willing to let go, rather than ignoring the risks because I am not likely to contract the disease. One might not see the connection between the spiritual and practical considerations in such a moment as this but to me it is quite clear.
Patience and love, willingness to surrender for the common good are the virtues needed now by each of us. “What am I willing to surrender?” I ask myself this morning. I would do well to look to the example of Jesus for the answer.
There has been a lot of bad news lately – some global, some personal involving people that I love. My typical response to all of it (as maybe for many of us) is to try to make things better. I am lately finding it difficult to trust my ability to do anything and so am shifting to what some people would call “letting God be God.” What that involves sometimes looks like passivity, and it does involve surrender to what is, but it seems more sensible than being against anything which involves resistance and pushing when there is a wall in the way.
I’ve been engaged in a number of conversations lately where the topic has been the need to let go of what we can’t control – like the weather and the march of time (specifically our aging process). This morning I opened Meg Wheatley’s little book, Perseverance, to a page called “Life Is Life” and found there some words worth my time and reflection. Perhaps we can all benefit from her wisdom.
Today’s gospel picks up yesterday’s conversation (JN 14), known as the “farewell discourse.” Moving on from the extraordinary verse where Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life,” Jesus is speaking now about his unity with God. “If you know me, then you will know my Father,” he says. “From now on you do know him and have seen him.” It is an enthusiastic Philip, I think, who jumps in saying, “Master, show us the Father and that will be enough for us!”
It is interesting to me that today’s psalm response from the lectionary is part of 119 – the longest psalm of all in the Bible. Fitting, I thought, after a week away that held so many diverse moments, including childhood memories as well as experiences of new places and events. Commentary says that “each segment of Psalm 119 could be read as a separate voice from individuals praying out of their various perspectives” or “one individual experiencing all the various perspectives that one knows along the path of life.” I’m not sure I have integrated all the impressions, information and feelings of the week as it was so full and far-reaching. One thing I do know is that it provided an opportunity (as most events do if we are awake) for self-reflection and gratitude. Thus, I pray this morning with the psalmist as I return to my blessed “normal” life.
When I was teaching school, this used to be an important day for me as it still is for many folks. The Wednesday after Labor Day sees our young people returning to school after their long summer vacation. It isn’t the same everywhere in our country. In some places, school has been in session for weeks but in those places dismissal for the summer also happens earlier, primarily because of the heat, I think. Right now it seems that some young people will not return to their schools at all this year; the schools are no longer habitable because of Hurricane Harvey. What will become of them, I wonder, for many reasons. Some will likely be home-schooled. Some may be shuttled to other locations. That happened in my own town after a flood in 2011. A Catholic parish school that had been closed and used for other parish functions was given back its identity for two years while a new school was built. Will the youth of Texas be so lucky as to find schooling together with their familiars?
I am sometimes awed at how much can be packed into a few verses of Scripture. What I mean is more likely where my mind and heart go after reading a short section, like today’s gospel about the rich young man who couldn’t quite “go the distance” in surrender. (MT 19:16-22)
In our conversations this weekend about Mary Magdalene and Conscious Love, we have often spoken of the need to surrender to life, letting go of our “small-self” desires in service to the greater good. In our meditation sessions, we let go of any thoughts that arise in order to allow us to be present to the Divine. I found a resonance in Alan Cohen’s reflection for today in his book, A Deep Breath of Life, that seems appropriate to share as we depart from this very valuable group experience. Cohen writes: