2019-08-20

How Can There Be Such Wrong?

Renewal Happens, part 2 of 2

Opportunities for renewal, for starting over, are ever-present. But there's a price for renewal. New beginnings come with loss.

All the things that religion is – the ethics and values we live by, the community bonds and the rituals, the experiences of transcendent wonder – all of that: it’s nothing if it doesn’t make us more alive, if it doesn’t open us to the fullness of everything, if it doesn’t prepare us to say YES to all of life, even the hard parts, even the loss. And renewal does include loss of what was before – just as loss of what was opens the space for renewal.

We have to say good-bye in order to say hello -- that's the cost of renewal. Novelist Daniel Abraham points out:
“The flower that wilted last year is gone. Petals once fallen are fallen forever. Flowers do not return in the spring, rather they are replaced. It is in this difference between returned and replaced that the price of renewal is paid. And as it is for spring flowers, so it is for us.”
Even as our hearts are lifted by new births and babies among us, we carry, too, the grief of absent loved-ones. Edna St. Vincent Millay captures this poignant ambivalence in her poem, “Spring”:
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
“It’s not enough,” says Millay. The bloodroot blossoms now sprinkled across our congregation’s property are so lovely – and far too delicate to bear the weight of the world’s grief.

Sara Teasdale feels the overwhelming inadequacy of spring as she writes in 1917, in the midst of the carnage of World War I. Her poem is called “Spring in War Time.”
I feel the spring far off, far off,
     The faint, far scent of bud and leaf—
Oh, how can spring take heart to come
     To a world in grief,
     Deep grief?

The sun turns north, the days grow long,
     Later the evening star grows bright—
How can the daylight linger on
     For men to fight,
     Still fight?

The grass is waking in the ground,
     Soon it will rise and blow in waves—
How can it have the heart to sway
     Over the graves,
     New graves?

Under the boughs where lovers walked
     The apple-blooms will shed their breath—
But what of all the lovers now
     Parted by Death,
     Grey Death?
In war time – and it is always war time somewhere on this weary world, and tragic loss is never very far away – it can seem a wonder that the grass would have the heart to sway over graves. How can the daffodil and bloodroot blossoms around us dare to shine forth? Do they not know my mother is no more? Have I not told them of my father’s death? Did they not hear of the Parkland shooting? Do the names Michael Brown and Eric Garner mean nothing to them? Have they no inkling of the refugee crisis, or what is happening at our country’s southern border, or in Yemen? Do they not read the paper? How dare the flowers stand there in small and silent beauty?

And yet, they do. There they are – matched in their shameless impudence by the boughs above them budding with fresh leaves, and, above them, the sun that has the effrontery to shine so brightly.

Do none of them know that animals, including human animals, died and are dying – horribly, tragically, and much too soon? Do they not know how much we loved those taken from us?

No. They don’t know. Life, heedless of calamity, refuses to be stopped, though its continuation only means more death.

In the book of Job, Job cries out “Why do I suffer?” After his friends Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar have offered their trite moral simplifications, Job is still left crying, "Why do I suffer?"

Finally, God Godself appears in a whirlwind to answer the charge that Job’s suffering is unfair and without basis. It’s not clear, however, that what God proceeds to say can be accurately called an “answer.” God unleashes four chapters of rhetorical questions that invoke the wonders and grandeur of creation. Here’s a sampling from chapters 38 and 39.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?...
Or who shut in the sea,... made the clouds its garment...
Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place...
Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?...
Has the rain a father, or who has begotten the drops of dew?...
Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion?...
Do you know when the mountain goats give birth?...
Do you give the horse its might?...
Is it by your wisdom that the hawk soars, and spreads its wings toward the south?
Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up and makes its nest on high?”
Does this answer Job’s question? Does this explain why Job suffers? No. It does not. It is, as Millay said, “not enough.” Yet, confronted with the marvel of creation in this way, Job’s complaint is stilled. Job says, "I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.” Humbled and speechless, Job abandons his plea.

But the plea returns. It returns recurrently in our lives as it returned to Sara Teasdale in 1917: how can there be such wrong?

If the wonders of creation seemed to Job to dwarf his own suffering, there are also times when the immensity of the world’s pain dwarfs the green grass of spring, the new leaves, the little flowers. And so it is, and so it is, and so it shall be.

Ours is to be open and present to both sides when they come – the death and the renewal alike -- for, in truth, both sides are always come.

So, yes, stop and smell the flowers, now that it is spring. Work hard and take breaks. Strive to get that hit -- and don’t forget to touch every base.

* * *
See also Part 1: Start Over 'Cause It's Never Over

2019-08-07

Start Over 'Cause It's Never Over

Renewal Happens, part 1

Marv Throneberry, 1933-1994
With baseball season upon us, I am remembering some of the grand tradition of New York baseball. Let us take a moment to fondly remember Marv Throneberry.

Marv Throneberry was first-basement for the 1962 Mets, arguably the worst major-league team ever. Throneberry’s batting was mediocre. Where he stood out -- in a bad way -- was as a fielder and a base runner, where his ineptness rose to legendary heights. As the New York York Times reported in its obituary when Marv Throneberry died:
“In a game against the Chicago Cubs, Throneberry hit what appeared to be a game-winning triple with the bases loaded and two outs. The problem was that everybody in the dugout noticed that he missed touching first base. When the Cubs' pitcher tossed the ball to the first baseman, the umpire called Throneberry out. The inning ended and the runs didn't count. Casey Stengel, the grizzled manager of the Mets, couldn't believe it and began arguing with the first-base umpire. As they exchanged words, another umpire walked over and said, 'Casey, I hate to tell you this, but he also missed second.'"
In sports, you get a new beginning with each new game. The score and mistakes from previous games don’t carry over. In life, though, past practice tends to carry over. We know that each day is a new beginning – but sometimes maybe it feels like the same old, same old. Life can sometimes grow stale. Freshness is all around us – this is always so and especially flagrant in spring – yet we can lose touch with it.

Spiritual renewal – the reinvigoration of our connection to the freshness of life, of each moment – is what spiritual practice is for. Spiritual practices are renewing practices. So if you’re feeling a bit stale – if you need some renewal – if it feels like even when you hit a triple, you still miss a base – or two -- take a look at the list of spiritual practices I’ve compiled online at Voices of Liberal Faith dot org. There you’ll find 185 spiritual practices so far – and the list keeps growing. The list is divided into categories and if you’re looking for a quick shot of renewal, you might look particularly at the practices in the category, “Occasional” or “Worth a Try.” If nothing else, simply take a break – a sabbath – from your usual work.

The formula I recommend for taking quiet, contemplative breaks is one hour a day, and one day a week, and one week a season. Step back in some form to let yourself take in both the big picture and little details you haven’t been noticing – take an hour a day for this – one day a week, the weekly Sabbath – and four times a year, take a whole week to really slow down and step back. One hour a day, one day a week, one week a season.

H/D + D/W + W/S

It's a good a formula for renewal. The discipline of it is helpful in that it guides us to get renewed even when we might not have noticed we were growing stale. After all, just because you’re standing there apparently safe on third base, doesn’t mean you haven’t missed something basic and are about to be thrown out at first, and all the accomplishment of your runs batted in erased.

For some of us, on the other hand, renewal just happens. You get tired, you rest. You get hungry, you eat: you’re refreshed. The day is renewed with each sunrise. And after winter comes the renewal of spring. Renewal just happens. You don’t have to do a particular spiritual practice to experience renewal. So maybe, for you, the only issue us is just to pause to appreciate the wonder of renewal. So let’s investigate that: this natural, recurring, inevitable renewal that just happens.

It’s a grace – a blessing we have done nothing to earn or deserve. It is granted – but we need not take it for granted.
“Life is never a material, a substance to be molded. Life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself, it is infinitely beyond your or my obtuse theories about it.” (Boris Pasternak).
As spring’s annual renewal burgeons around us, let not creation play to an empty house. Be there to drink it in the fresh green, the audacious colors of the flowers. To refer again to a figure from New York baseball, it was Yogi Berra who said,
“it ain’t over til it’s over.”
Game 2 of the '73 World Series, 10th inning. Bud Harrelson 
has been called out at home plate though Oakland catcher
Ray Fosse's swipe tag appeared to be off target. Willie Mays,
shown protesting, was on deck. But it wasn't over. Two
innings later, Mays' final hit of his career would win the game.
Author and hospice and eldercare provider Kate McGahan added,
“True, it's not over till it's over. And even when it's over, it just begins again.”
It was 1973 July when Yogi said “it ain’t over til it’s over.” He was then the Mets’ manager, and the Mets were in last place. But it wasn’t over – because it wasn’t over. The Mets would go on to win the division that year, beat the Reds for the National League pennant, and take the World Series to seven games before losing to the Oakland Athletics. THEN it was over. But only until the next spring.

The Roman poet Ovid in the first century wrote:
“As wave is driven by wave
And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead,
So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows,
Always, for ever and new.
What was before
Is left behind; what never was is now;
And every passing moment is renewed.”
No failure is ever permanent – and this also means that no success is. And that’s a good thing. We can’t be stuck, either in our ashes or on our laurels. There’s always the new day, the new season, the new year. There’s always starting over -- professionally and financially, socially and relationally. Even spiritually, there's always starting over. There's a saying among some Buddhists: Yesterday's enlightenment is today's delusion. There are no permanent accomplishments, victories, or even insights. As author Marty Ruben said,
“What's wonderful about life is you always have to start over. No matter how many meals you've eaten, words you've spoken, breaths, you've taken, you always have to start over.”
* * *
See also: Part 2: How Can There Be Such Wrong