In my last post, I wrote about a kind of freedom which is quite different from what we ordinarily think of as freedom.
Mark 10:17 - 27 records the encounter of a young man of moral and religious upbringing who in every outward way was a model of propriety. He lived according to the expectations of devout religious life. And he would have been seen as "successful" by cultural norms, which valued wealth as a sign of virtue and God's favor. In short, from the brief description of him contained in the Gospel account, he had everything going for himself.
Jesus saw, however, that he was attached to his wealth, and could not part with that which he had accumulated. By clinging to his possessions, he declined Jesus' invitation both to extend charity to those in need and to follow Jesus as a disciple. His attachment to what he possessed meant he was not inwardly free to move as the moment dictated. His movements, rather, were governed by what he held onto . . . or perhaps better, by what held him.
The man sulks away from Jesus, sad because he has not been able to part with his wealth. He has missed an opportunity to do good for others and to follow the Messiah.
[It may be worth spending time with the story at this point. The man "went away sad, because he had great wealth." What was the source of his sadness? I'm pondered several possibilities:
**Was he sad because he recognized that his wealth had a hold on him?
**Was he sad because he knew he was not inwardly free enough to follow?
**Was he sad because Jesus asked so much from him, something that he was not able to do at that moment?
**Was he said because he truly wanted to follow Jesus, just not as desperately as he wanted to hold onto his wealth?
Why did he go away sad?]
Today I want to say a word about Jesus' editorial comment, offered to his disciples after the man went away sad.
“How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!”
The disciples were amazed at Jesus' words, so he said again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”
The kingdom of God is not a "kingdom" in any way in which we are accustomed to thinking. For one, it is not a place. Jesus is not describing "heaven," and is NOT saying that it is hard for the rich to get into heaven. The kingdom of God does not equal heaven. It is not a physical place that looks like Narnia, or like a New Zealand-ish Lord of the Rings set, or like streets of gold.
The kingdom of God -- or the kingdom of heaven, depending on which Gospel narrative you read -- is a way of being and seeing and doing life that is characterized by God at the center. It means taking upon oneself a particular stance for life, adopting a particular posture for life . . . a stance or posture shaped by God which has at its core a God-connection which animates all of life. For example, I've heard Fr Thomas Keating talk about our lives as a "lived experience of Jesus", and that gets pretty close to what I'm trying to convey. To enter the kingdom of God means to enter this centered way of doing life on God's terms and in God's way, to take on this life-stance for oneself.
What does it mean to be a God-connected person and then to live out life in a God-animated manner? I'm not talking about our ideas of what being "God-connected" or "God-animated" look like. I'm not talking about what preachers preach or what theologians speculate. I'm talking about the actual experience of entering this alternative way of being, seeing, and doing.
This stance toward life is resisted, for example, by the posture that has our own self-interest at the center, or our own attachments at the core. In the Gospel story we've considered, the man's wealth seems to be at the center of his decision-making and life-choices. He is attached to his possessions and thus, those possessions impact the stance or posture from which he does life. He is not inwardly free enough to enter the kingdom of God, that is, to be, see, and do from his God-center.
Of course, your attachments and my attachments, the things which prevent us from entering the kingdom of heaven, may be altogether different from the money at the center of this man's issues.
I think it is worth noting that while the man in the story is "rich" in possessions, in material wealth, we are all rich in some way -- just as we are all "poor" in some way. Having an abundance of money is almost a ready-made attachment for most people. Even those who do not have much money or material wealth can obsess about having more, so Jesus' saying about riches is not merely for those who have large bank accounts and portfolios.
But in truth, it is difficult for those who are "rich" in anything to enter the kingdom of God. It is difficult, no matter where your own "riches" lie:
** rich in money and possessions
** rich in education
** rich in intellect
** rich in creativity
** rich in talent or skill
** rich in relationships
** rich in ___________
Wealth, in whatever realm, is always heavy. Being rich in anything weighs us down, lures us to trust our riches, and can become a hindrance to living fully the life that God has designed for us. Riches hinder our capacity to say, "Yes!" to entering this life-stance called "the kingdom of God."
So even if you and I do not think of ourselves as rich in possessions, we are invited to hear Jesus' words about the areas of life in which we ARE wealthy.
The camel-through-the-eye-of-a-needle reference is outrageously glorious. YOU can't do this, no matter how hard you try. I can't do this, no matter how hard I try. It's just not gonna happen! But God's realm is working in people who live with some combination of wealth and poverty, who are rich in some things and poor in others. What we cannot do, like shoving a camel through a needle's eye, is entirely within the realm of God's doing.
In other words, on this one day the rich man may have sulked away sad because he could not respond to Jesus' invitation; however, on another day perhaps he would return again, this time realizing that his efforts/wealth/money could never outpace God's love, mercy, and generosity.
Showing posts with label attachment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label attachment. Show all posts
Friday, June 1, 2018
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
A Different Kind of Freedom
Monday, on Memorial Day in the U.S., admonitions from a variety of sources were cast out via the internet and various media outlets, all encouraging our gratitude for those who paid for freedom with their lives. It was a day to remember those whose lives were given for our nation's freedom. Several persons in my extended family and circle of relationship came to mind as I thought of what Memorial Day stands for. Certainly, the freedom to express oneself, the freedom to pursue life, liberty, and happiness are important and not to be taken for granted. The freedom Americans often take as a given is not enjoyed by everyone in the world. The day reminded us of the sobriety and gratitude such freedom demands.
In the spiritual realm, there is another freedom that is even more crucial, a freedom that transcends a nation's freedom or any person's liberties. Freedom in the outer world is no guarantee of freedom in the inner world. Outward freedom, that provided by governments and social structures provides us with the liberty to move about, to seek the common good, to pursue our own happiness, and to seek (or not seek) fullness of life in a way that is mutually beneficial to others within society.
Inward freedom, though, is an entirely different matter, having little to do with outward structures or circumstance, almost nothing to do with the particular political system or social arrangement in which one lives. Inner freedom is a matter of soul . . . so much a matter of soul that a person may live in a setting in which there is little or no outer freedom, and yet have an immense sense of interior freedom. Nelson Mandela, imprisoned unjustly in South Africa, comes to mind as someone who was outwardly imprisoned with almost no outer freedom, yet who lived with an amazingly high sense of interior freedom. Mandela's body could be confined for 27 years on Robben Island and in Pollsmoor Prison, but never could his soul be imprisoned.
I'm thinking today of the ways you and I live imprisoned by the things that we've gathered to ourselves in hopes they would bring us happiness. And I'm thinking of this in terms of the Gospel reading that was appointed for Monday, May 28, Memorial Day in the United States.
17 As Jesus started on his way, a man ran up to him and fell on his knees before him. “Good teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
18 “Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone. 19 You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother.'”
20 “Teacher,” he declared, “all these I have kept since I was a boy.”
21 Jesus looked at him and loved him. “One thing you lack,” he said. “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
22 At this the man’s face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.
23 Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!”
24 The disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! 25 It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”
26 The disciples were even more amazed, and said to each other, “Who then can be saved?”
27 Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.”
(Mark 10:17 - 27, NIV)
I don't know myself very well. Most of us don't. Day after day we busily collect to ourselves the things we think will make us happy and fulfilled . . . . the diplomas, bank account balances, job titles, houses, accolades, and much more that we cling to, hoping for a life of meaning.
Ignatius of Loyola called these things attachments, because not only do I attach them to my own sense of self, but I also attach significance to them in a way that is out of proportion to what they can actually give me.
Day to day, I tend not to be aware of those things I cling to for happiness -- they dwell in such a deeply interiorized part of me -- but when I'm seen all the way through -- "Jesus looked at him and loved him" -- by one with eyes to see my interior, the things I've clutched to myself are named for what they are.
Inner freedom begins with the grace to see or identify the things to which I cling, the things that keep me from walking the path of my unique life wholeheartedly. This seeing means I must begin to notice where I am NOT free inwardly, the places in my interior landscape in which my own compulsions or "inordinate attachments" dwell (desires that are blown out of proportion, that are beyond "ordinary" and thus "inordinate"). These attachments to which I cling are usually the people, roles, and things I cannot imagine living without. When clinging to them, I am not free, but rather tied to something in which I have invested my happiness. Think "addiction," because we are all addicts, all addicted to something, even to many things . . . praise, status, affirmation, security, money, pleasure, even to our own sickness.
The extent to which we cling to anything which is not God -- even to our own ideas or notions of God, even to our own idea of what "faith" is -- we're not truly free.
With the young man in the Gospel story, Jesus simply put his finger on the place where the man was not free. For him, the issue was money, possessions, clinging to them and holding them in a way that tied him down and prevented him from making decisions apart from his belongings.
Like all attachments, his possessions were heavy. They weighed him down and held him in place, so that he could not move on down the path in a life-giving way. He was essentially paralyzed by the things he held onto, the things he could not let go. It really didn't matter that he was a good man, a moral man, a religious man who kept commandments, because his clinging held him in place and prevented him from moving on. He was stuck.
Whatever my attachments are -- and whatever yours are -- they weigh us down. They are heavy, cumbersome. Attachments don't travel well.
Maybe a couple of practical exercises will help us.
First, seeing what is within you. In order to reflect on your own inner freedom, consider something important in your life, perhaps a person or a car or a piece of furniture. Ask yourself, "What would I be without _______?" Do the same thing with a job title or role you carry out in life: "Who would I be if I were not ______?"
Of course there are people, pets, and roles that are important to us, which we do not want to do without. Remember, though, Ignatius felt that the guideline for considering inner freedom is "inordinate attachment," in other words, attachments beyond what is ordinary and healthy, beyond what falls into the realm of "addictive behavior." (In 12-step work, the key question is often, "Is my attachment to this substance, behavior, or person 'unmanageable'?")
"Has my attachment to this person or thing become unmanageable?"
Second, NO judgement. When you begin to see yourself and the degree to which you are inwardly free or unfree, do not judge yourself as good or bad. Leave judgment at the door. It is a great grace, perhaps the greatest grace, to be able to see yourself as you truly are and to withhold judging what you see in yourself. (By the way, not judging yourself is also the first step in not judging others . . . "Love your neighbor AS YOURSELF".)
When he looked at the young man, "Jesus loved him." The phrase should not be missed and is included in the text intentionally. You and I are seen all the way through in love, not judgement.
God has seen already all your attachments, all the ways you are not inwardly free . . . and God still loves you completely. Just because you see something about yourself for the first time does not mean that part of you just arrived. It has been there all along. You are just now seeing it. So resist judging yourself. See it, name it, but don't judge it.
Third, the prayer for freedom. Once you notice an interior area in which you are not inwardly free, pray this simple prayer: "God, free me from the need to cling to ________" . . . or "God, free me from the need to be _______." That's it. You don't have to fix your lack of inner freedom. You only have to be aware of your attachment and then be willing to pray for inner freedom. Then repeat the short prayer whenever you notice an attachment weighing you down in daily life.
[I picked up this short prayer for inner freedom from Jesuit priest and missionary Max Oliva (I believe the book was Free to Pray, Free to Love), who calls this short method the "Freedom Prayer."]
We, like the man in the Gospel, are often held in place by our lack of inner freedom. We are stuck where we are. In my own life, I seem to hear regularly an invitation to awareness, to become more and more aware of my own lack of inner freedom, and to do so without judgement.
[If you are interested in a simple, yet lovingly blunt, approach to attachments and inner freedom, try Anthony de Mello's The Way to Love. In the areas of spirituality and personal unfolding, it's a top 10 Must-Read in my opinion. De Mello, a Jesuit priest from India, could be both gentle and in-your-face within the same paragraph. He's the contemporary master when it comes to inner freedom and attachments.]
In the spiritual realm, there is another freedom that is even more crucial, a freedom that transcends a nation's freedom or any person's liberties. Freedom in the outer world is no guarantee of freedom in the inner world. Outward freedom, that provided by governments and social structures provides us with the liberty to move about, to seek the common good, to pursue our own happiness, and to seek (or not seek) fullness of life in a way that is mutually beneficial to others within society.
Inward freedom, though, is an entirely different matter, having little to do with outward structures or circumstance, almost nothing to do with the particular political system or social arrangement in which one lives. Inner freedom is a matter of soul . . . so much a matter of soul that a person may live in a setting in which there is little or no outer freedom, and yet have an immense sense of interior freedom. Nelson Mandela, imprisoned unjustly in South Africa, comes to mind as someone who was outwardly imprisoned with almost no outer freedom, yet who lived with an amazingly high sense of interior freedom. Mandela's body could be confined for 27 years on Robben Island and in Pollsmoor Prison, but never could his soul be imprisoned.
I'm thinking today of the ways you and I live imprisoned by the things that we've gathered to ourselves in hopes they would bring us happiness. And I'm thinking of this in terms of the Gospel reading that was appointed for Monday, May 28, Memorial Day in the United States.
17 As Jesus started on his way, a man ran up to him and fell on his knees before him. “Good teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
18 “Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone. 19 You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother.'”
20 “Teacher,” he declared, “all these I have kept since I was a boy.”
21 Jesus looked at him and loved him. “One thing you lack,” he said. “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
22 At this the man’s face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.
23 Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!”
24 The disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! 25 It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”
26 The disciples were even more amazed, and said to each other, “Who then can be saved?”
27 Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.”
(Mark 10:17 - 27, NIV)
I don't know myself very well. Most of us don't. Day after day we busily collect to ourselves the things we think will make us happy and fulfilled . . . . the diplomas, bank account balances, job titles, houses, accolades, and much more that we cling to, hoping for a life of meaning.
Ignatius of Loyola called these things attachments, because not only do I attach them to my own sense of self, but I also attach significance to them in a way that is out of proportion to what they can actually give me.
Day to day, I tend not to be aware of those things I cling to for happiness -- they dwell in such a deeply interiorized part of me -- but when I'm seen all the way through -- "Jesus looked at him and loved him" -- by one with eyes to see my interior, the things I've clutched to myself are named for what they are.
Inner freedom begins with the grace to see or identify the things to which I cling, the things that keep me from walking the path of my unique life wholeheartedly. This seeing means I must begin to notice where I am NOT free inwardly, the places in my interior landscape in which my own compulsions or "inordinate attachments" dwell (desires that are blown out of proportion, that are beyond "ordinary" and thus "inordinate"). These attachments to which I cling are usually the people, roles, and things I cannot imagine living without. When clinging to them, I am not free, but rather tied to something in which I have invested my happiness. Think "addiction," because we are all addicts, all addicted to something, even to many things . . . praise, status, affirmation, security, money, pleasure, even to our own sickness.
The extent to which we cling to anything which is not God -- even to our own ideas or notions of God, even to our own idea of what "faith" is -- we're not truly free.
With the young man in the Gospel story, Jesus simply put his finger on the place where the man was not free. For him, the issue was money, possessions, clinging to them and holding them in a way that tied him down and prevented him from making decisions apart from his belongings.
Like all attachments, his possessions were heavy. They weighed him down and held him in place, so that he could not move on down the path in a life-giving way. He was essentially paralyzed by the things he held onto, the things he could not let go. It really didn't matter that he was a good man, a moral man, a religious man who kept commandments, because his clinging held him in place and prevented him from moving on. He was stuck.
Whatever my attachments are -- and whatever yours are -- they weigh us down. They are heavy, cumbersome. Attachments don't travel well.
Maybe a couple of practical exercises will help us.
First, seeing what is within you. In order to reflect on your own inner freedom, consider something important in your life, perhaps a person or a car or a piece of furniture. Ask yourself, "What would I be without _______?" Do the same thing with a job title or role you carry out in life: "Who would I be if I were not ______?"
Of course there are people, pets, and roles that are important to us, which we do not want to do without. Remember, though, Ignatius felt that the guideline for considering inner freedom is "inordinate attachment," in other words, attachments beyond what is ordinary and healthy, beyond what falls into the realm of "addictive behavior." (In 12-step work, the key question is often, "Is my attachment to this substance, behavior, or person 'unmanageable'?")
"Has my attachment to this person or thing become unmanageable?"
Second, NO judgement. When you begin to see yourself and the degree to which you are inwardly free or unfree, do not judge yourself as good or bad. Leave judgment at the door. It is a great grace, perhaps the greatest grace, to be able to see yourself as you truly are and to withhold judging what you see in yourself. (By the way, not judging yourself is also the first step in not judging others . . . "Love your neighbor AS YOURSELF".)
When he looked at the young man, "Jesus loved him." The phrase should not be missed and is included in the text intentionally. You and I are seen all the way through in love, not judgement.
God has seen already all your attachments, all the ways you are not inwardly free . . . and God still loves you completely. Just because you see something about yourself for the first time does not mean that part of you just arrived. It has been there all along. You are just now seeing it. So resist judging yourself. See it, name it, but don't judge it.
Third, the prayer for freedom. Once you notice an interior area in which you are not inwardly free, pray this simple prayer: "God, free me from the need to cling to ________" . . . or "God, free me from the need to be _______." That's it. You don't have to fix your lack of inner freedom. You only have to be aware of your attachment and then be willing to pray for inner freedom. Then repeat the short prayer whenever you notice an attachment weighing you down in daily life.
[I picked up this short prayer for inner freedom from Jesuit priest and missionary Max Oliva (I believe the book was Free to Pray, Free to Love), who calls this short method the "Freedom Prayer."]
We, like the man in the Gospel, are often held in place by our lack of inner freedom. We are stuck where we are. In my own life, I seem to hear regularly an invitation to awareness, to become more and more aware of my own lack of inner freedom, and to do so without judgement.
[If you are interested in a simple, yet lovingly blunt, approach to attachments and inner freedom, try Anthony de Mello's The Way to Love. In the areas of spirituality and personal unfolding, it's a top 10 Must-Read in my opinion. De Mello, a Jesuit priest from India, could be both gentle and in-your-face within the same paragraph. He's the contemporary master when it comes to inner freedom and attachments.]
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
What Rest?
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matt. 11:28)
I was particularly sensitive to Jesus' words in Matthew 11:28 when I read them a couple of days ago. They caught my attention on the long end of a stretch in which I've dealt with health issues that brought several weeks of lean sleep.
Ahhh, but to be able to sleep again. Rest, sweet rest.
In my naivete', I've supposed that this was the rest Jesus promises. Rest. Sleep. A pause from the demands of work. Respite from the constant houndings of daily life. A moment free from "forced" creativity. Eight hours of non-interrupted REM sleep.
But when I read the passage this time, I asked some other questions of this rest.
What is the rest Jesus gives? Is is rest from physical exhaustion? Is it emotional rest? Is it rest from carrying the burdens others place upon me? Is it rest from health concerns?
And I began to consider other kinds of rest . . . rest from trying to control everyone else around me . . . rest from being attached to outcomes . . . rest from worry about things I cannot control . . . and rest from the control I try to exert over the way things turn out, that they should look the way I want them to look. . . .
Is it rest from my compulsions?
Is it rest from my attachment to security?
Is it rest from my attachment to good health?
Is it rest from my attachment to comfort?
I realize that so much anxiety and worry comes when any of these things are thwarted, when my attachment to them is threatened. Truly, the anxiety and worry represent "no rest", no sense of well-being. They are wearisome, draining, exhausting, pulling out my interior resources, spending energy on that over which I usually have little control.
For this season of my life, I sense that rest is not getting plenty of sleep. As always, I reserve the right to change my mind about these things . . . but for today, rest looks more like letting go of compulsions and releasing attachments.
My experience has been that only in the context of a vertical, Divine-human, I-Thou relationship, do I recognize these compulsions and attachments. The contemplative journey gives me the space to see myself more and more clearly, to see what is more true about myself, and to name the compulsions and attachments which are illusory.
Further, it gives me some language -- even if limited -- to speak to these compulsions and attachments. And it gives me some practices that are well-suited for breaking up the hardened soil of the attachments in order that I might live more freely for good and healing in the world.
Jesus, it would seem to me, is much more invested in this kind of liberating rest that heals me and heals the world than in my prospects for getting a good, eight hour sleep.
I was particularly sensitive to Jesus' words in Matthew 11:28 when I read them a couple of days ago. They caught my attention on the long end of a stretch in which I've dealt with health issues that brought several weeks of lean sleep.
Ahhh, but to be able to sleep again. Rest, sweet rest.
In my naivete', I've supposed that this was the rest Jesus promises. Rest. Sleep. A pause from the demands of work. Respite from the constant houndings of daily life. A moment free from "forced" creativity. Eight hours of non-interrupted REM sleep.
But when I read the passage this time, I asked some other questions of this rest.
What is the rest Jesus gives? Is is rest from physical exhaustion? Is it emotional rest? Is it rest from carrying the burdens others place upon me? Is it rest from health concerns?
And I began to consider other kinds of rest . . . rest from trying to control everyone else around me . . . rest from being attached to outcomes . . . rest from worry about things I cannot control . . . and rest from the control I try to exert over the way things turn out, that they should look the way I want them to look. . . .
Is it rest from my compulsions?
Is it rest from my attachment to security?
Is it rest from my attachment to good health?
Is it rest from my attachment to comfort?
I realize that so much anxiety and worry comes when any of these things are thwarted, when my attachment to them is threatened. Truly, the anxiety and worry represent "no rest", no sense of well-being. They are wearisome, draining, exhausting, pulling out my interior resources, spending energy on that over which I usually have little control.
For this season of my life, I sense that rest is not getting plenty of sleep. As always, I reserve the right to change my mind about these things . . . but for today, rest looks more like letting go of compulsions and releasing attachments.
My experience has been that only in the context of a vertical, Divine-human, I-Thou relationship, do I recognize these compulsions and attachments. The contemplative journey gives me the space to see myself more and more clearly, to see what is more true about myself, and to name the compulsions and attachments which are illusory.
Further, it gives me some language -- even if limited -- to speak to these compulsions and attachments. And it gives me some practices that are well-suited for breaking up the hardened soil of the attachments in order that I might live more freely for good and healing in the world.
Jesus, it would seem to me, is much more invested in this kind of liberating rest that heals me and heals the world than in my prospects for getting a good, eight hour sleep.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Holding On and Letting Go
John 12:24 - 26
"Those who love their life will lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life."
I'm not often certain about how some words are translated from one language to another. For example, I only know enough Greek to be dangerous, so I can't vouch for the Greek word translated "hate" in this passage. I've heard all sorts of things about it from those who are determined to make good, common sense out of its difficulty -- and of course, doing so in a thoroughly American way.
So I don't know that where I went this morning is kosher or viable by academic standards. But for me, to "love my life" may mean to love the life I have so much that I hold onto it. I clutch it, grasp it, so "in love" with my life I am. And when that is my stance, I lose life. It means that I cannot step into another life, because I cannot let go of the one I have, the one I am in love with. To hold onto the life I have closes me down to any other possibility. It closes me down to anything else that may come at me. I have so set, so fixed my way on one thing in particular that I cannot respond to anything else that comes toward me or invites me. I cannot allow any other life into my imagination.
The mystics through the centuries have said to us that God is always waiting to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to receive them. When I "love" my life as it is, I may actually lose the life God has dreamed for me.
To "love life" is to hold on and close down.
On the other hand, to "hate life" may imply the act of letting go and opening up. It is possible that I could be so enamored with the life I have so as to miss the life that is awaiting me. In that sense, I "hate" this life, preferring the life that is still unfolding in me. The life I now have does not satisfy me, so I stay open to what is yet to come. I am willing to step beyond where I have been.
Authentic growth and becoming implies that I have to stay open, that I have to be able to step onto paths I have not foreseen, that I have to recognize possibilities where I have seen none. When I hold onto life as it is, I short-circuit my own becoming. The tight clutching hides my becoming behind my current state. It deflects those things that would bring me to my truest self, the person God created me to be.
I wonder if this is the same "love/hate" language Jesus uses in Luke 14:26:
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple."
Is Jesus saying that "loving" family (and even your own life) is holding on to them in an attached way that gives you no identity apart from them? . . . and that "hating" them means letter go or detaching from them, so that you come to some sense of who you are apart from them? Doesn't Jess recognize that we come to our most basic, core identity apart from what others say and think about us, even those closest to us? We live into our true self not because of the identity others give us, but out of our own lived-experience of who we are in God.
Relationships are important, and others can help us hear the notes of our particular song; however, no other person, no matter how close they are, can impart to us our most authentic self. In an ultimate sense, no one else can name you and validate you.
But this is the difficult work of letting go, the work of releasing the life to which we cling in order to receive the life of God. It entails the difficulty of trusting that the life for which I was created is still becoming within me. None of us are good at this, and we don't enjoy it.
This is our spiritual challenge that takes a lifetime . . . it is the challenge of "loving" and "hating," of holding on and letting go.
"Those who love their life will lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life."
I'm not often certain about how some words are translated from one language to another. For example, I only know enough Greek to be dangerous, so I can't vouch for the Greek word translated "hate" in this passage. I've heard all sorts of things about it from those who are determined to make good, common sense out of its difficulty -- and of course, doing so in a thoroughly American way.
So I don't know that where I went this morning is kosher or viable by academic standards. But for me, to "love my life" may mean to love the life I have so much that I hold onto it. I clutch it, grasp it, so "in love" with my life I am. And when that is my stance, I lose life. It means that I cannot step into another life, because I cannot let go of the one I have, the one I am in love with. To hold onto the life I have closes me down to any other possibility. It closes me down to anything else that may come at me. I have so set, so fixed my way on one thing in particular that I cannot respond to anything else that comes toward me or invites me. I cannot allow any other life into my imagination.
The mystics through the centuries have said to us that God is always waiting to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to receive them. When I "love" my life as it is, I may actually lose the life God has dreamed for me.
To "love life" is to hold on and close down.
On the other hand, to "hate life" may imply the act of letting go and opening up. It is possible that I could be so enamored with the life I have so as to miss the life that is awaiting me. In that sense, I "hate" this life, preferring the life that is still unfolding in me. The life I now have does not satisfy me, so I stay open to what is yet to come. I am willing to step beyond where I have been.
Authentic growth and becoming implies that I have to stay open, that I have to be able to step onto paths I have not foreseen, that I have to recognize possibilities where I have seen none. When I hold onto life as it is, I short-circuit my own becoming. The tight clutching hides my becoming behind my current state. It deflects those things that would bring me to my truest self, the person God created me to be.
I wonder if this is the same "love/hate" language Jesus uses in Luke 14:26:
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple."
Is Jesus saying that "loving" family (and even your own life) is holding on to them in an attached way that gives you no identity apart from them? . . . and that "hating" them means letter go or detaching from them, so that you come to some sense of who you are apart from them? Doesn't Jess recognize that we come to our most basic, core identity apart from what others say and think about us, even those closest to us? We live into our true self not because of the identity others give us, but out of our own lived-experience of who we are in God.
Relationships are important, and others can help us hear the notes of our particular song; however, no other person, no matter how close they are, can impart to us our most authentic self. In an ultimate sense, no one else can name you and validate you.
But this is the difficult work of letting go, the work of releasing the life to which we cling in order to receive the life of God. It entails the difficulty of trusting that the life for which I was created is still becoming within me. None of us are good at this, and we don't enjoy it.
This is our spiritual challenge that takes a lifetime . . . it is the challenge of "loving" and "hating," of holding on and letting go.
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