Fighting Freedom

We took Summer, our new lab puppy, on our walk with Lady Gator this morning. Lady has learned not to resist putting on her leash or taking it off. Summer hasn't quite got that down just yet. When we enter our yard, we let them off their leashes to run around. Summer kept pulling away, and pulling away from me. I tried to bring her close enough to set her free and unhook her leash, but she wanted no part of that. She resisted, perfectly fine with continuing to fight the leash. I tried explaining it to her to no avail. Finally I got her next to me and let her go. Off she went to play in the woods, untethered to care!

But who am I to criticize Summer? Certainly I am no better. Do I let God draw me near to set me free? Do I allow his control of my life, guiding me and leading me to safety and peace? Do I really want to be free, with his direction, or am I satisfied with fighting my freedom, content with an adversarial relationship when all the time it could be one of love?

Defining our lives

Saturday I ran my first full marathon in over 2 1/2 years. This was no regular road marathon; it was the Tecumsah Trail marathon in the hills of Southern Indiana. Over 3500 feet of uphill, 3800 feet downhill, plus tons of mud from the recent drenching rains (the course had to be rerouted partly because of flooding), lots of roots and rocks hidden by fallen leaves, and quite a few creeks to slosh through.

Two days later my legs are still hurting. This was without a doubt the most physically taxing and painful marathon I've done. My extremely slow time, even for me, is indicative: it took over 7 hours for me to finish! Yet there is something else noteworthy about this run for me. Somewhere in the middle, when I was really slowing down from slow already and feeling the pain, I realized how much I was enjoying it. Not the pain, but the beauty of running, or this run, this hills, the vistas, the gorgeous scenery, the cool (twenty something degrees) air, the bright December sun, the quiet solitude, the silence of nada listening to a few creatures in the woods, my breathing, the stillness of my center, the simplicity of life at it's most fundamental level. For some reason, when I'm usually panicking and thinking how much I regret signing up for another painful marathon, I decided to ignore the pain and focus only on the enjoyment of the present moment.

I realized going into this one it would be hard, in fact I only planned on running a half or maybe 15-20 miles. So I really did go slow from the start, even for me. I walked a lot. I stopped a few times to listen to the sound of the woods. I even sat down at one point on a fallen tree and ate a box of raisins. For the last 4 hours, I think I looked at my watch maybe once. I didn't care about the time. While I would love to have finished, I knew it might not happen, so I didn't stress over it. I simply decided I would run/walk/hike/slog through this marathon my way.

And that's what I'm learning this year, to define life in my terms. Coming back as a broker to the company that laid me off after being in mid management appears to many as a backwards career move. I don't care, I am loving it so far. Changing churches twice in a year seems odd to many, but not to me, I had to follow my heart. Adopting three special needs children has brought raised eyebrows to many around us for 15 years, big deal. Who am I? I am a father, a husband, a broker, an Orthodox Christian, a pray-er, a friend, a runner, a hiker, a Hoosier, a tree hugging environmentalist, a middle aged Caucasian, and whatever else can come to mind.

And I am none of these, because what I really am is who I am, not what I do, what I wear, what I think, but what I "be." I've spent too much of my life trying to figure out what I am instead of being who I am.

Can I rightly be called a marathoner since I stop to eat raisins on a tree stump and listen to birds when I'm already walking and 2 hours behind the leader? I don't know. You run your race, and I'll be who I am in mine.

Detachment and Laymen

The idea of detachment is fairly prevalent in Orthodox practice. St. John of the Ladder speaks of it in depth. I understand it's popular in the Philokalia, although I haven't read that yet. And it's found in other monastic writings. But what does detachment mean for a layman? For that matter, what place does contemplation have for a layman? That is the question I've been pursuing for some time.

It seems to me many times when I read or hear about detachment, there's a kind of disclaimer that it's mainly for monastics. We laypeople are in the world, so our level of detachment might not be that significant. I guess I would agree with that to a point. Obviously I've made a commitment to my wife and family, so I must fulfill that. But I still think there's a lot of room for detachment.

Another argument I've heard is we should be detached in our heart. Kind of like as long as we say we're detached, it's okay to live otherwise.

I don't have an answer for this yet. In fact, it will probably be a lifetime working it out. Being laid off for 6 months this year really brought this idea of detachment home. I had to face every day feeling like a loser: I had no job, I didn't respect myself, I doubt there was much respect out there for me anyway. I thought back to other losses in my life: our first daughter being stillborn, and my father and mother dying 8 years ago. Many days I feel like a failure as a husband and father. I'm embarrassed over leaving the Orthodox church a year ago, though we've since returned.

Through all of this, there is a temptation to despair. Or I could try and deceive myself with positive thinking, and just tell myself everything is great. For me, there's a middle way: detachment. For the sake of argument, let's say I may be a failure. But go one step further: what does it really matter? Where is my focus? On my self esteem, or how I think others perceive me? What if I did fail at every single thing I attempt in life? That doesn't, or shouldn't, change my relationship with God. I should continue to devote myself to prayer. In fact, failure has probably been better at bringing me to my knees than success would.

A man went to see one of the desert fathers for a word. Abba told him go to the cemetery, and curse those buried there. The man went and spent hours cursing the dead, throwing rocks at their graves, and insulting them. Upon his return, the Abba instructed him to go back to the cemetery and praise the dead. The man went there, praising the dead for being great saints, and for their accomplishments. He lathered them with his blessing. When he returned to the Father, Abba asked him "What did they do when you cursed them?" The man replied "nothing, they laid in their tombs in silence." Abba asked him "what did they do when you blessed them?" "Nothing, they remained silent." Abba said: go and do likewise.

That is detachment.

Getting into position

Last night I couldn't sleep, so Lady Gator and I went outside for a little bit around 2:oo A.M. Looks like there was a full moon. One of the downsides of living in woods is, you can't really see the sky 6 months of the year. So I kept walking around, the back, the sides, the front, trying to get a clear shot of the moon. It was pretty much in vain. Until I turned around to go back in. Then I noticed a few parts of the front yard where there was light streaming through.

Not being a rocket scientist but having some intelligence, I walked over to where the moonlight was, lined up my shadow in it, and turned back toward the sky. Voila! There's the moon, brightly piercing through branches and shining all over me.

That is what contemplative practice is all about. I can't create the presence of God in my life. I can't manufacture a contemplative moment. I can't force the Holy Spirit to show up at will. But I can get myself into position where the likelihood of those things happening is greater. I can increase my availabilty, my vulnerability, my receptivity to God if I'm in a right position spiritually when I:

• am present at Divine Liturgy, especially mindful during the anaphora and epiklesis.
• arise early to give 20 or 30 minutes to God in silent prayer.
• make full use of my prayer rope and the Jesus prayer often.
• be mindful to the present moment throughout the day.
• take time for spiritual disciplines: walking meditation, centering prayer, Psalms, liturgy.

Siesta Key is one of my favorite places on the planet. Nothing is like a beautiful sunset out on the white sandy beaches, with a bright orange sun setting into the green/blue water. When in Sarasota, if I'm watching tv, or reading a book, or sitting in the house, I'll miss it. Being at Point of Rocks at the right time doesn't guarantee a wonderful sunset, but does highly increase my chances of catching it if there is one. Like the title of a good little book I'm reading, "Wherever you go, there you are." It's up to me to make sure that I am in the present moment when the sun sets, when the full moon shines, and when God awakens me to His presence.

The Inconceivable God

God: ineffable, inconceivable, invisible, incomprehensible. These words are from the Divine Liturgy of John Chrysostom. I've been thinking for a week about that word inconceivable. It's kind of an oxymoron isn't it? To say something is "inconceivable", is to say it can't exist. But to name it, is to acknowledge it's existence. So does inconceivable mean cannot possibly exist, a kind of nothingness? Or is it just so far beyond our comprehension we can't conceive of it? Like God. Except that we do conceive of the idea of God, though He is so transcendant we can't conceive of him.

I'm confusing myself here.

Which leads me to another fascinating contemplation: the nada of God. One thing that draws me so much to Orthodoxy, and Eastern thought in general, is the idea of an apophatic way. In the west, we try to define everything, intellecualize it, outline it and describe it in detail. Even God. But remember, He's inconceivable. He's beyond knowing. He is unknowing. To know Him is to unknown what we think we know of Him. To learn his way is to unlearn.

Gotta read Gregory of Nyssa sometime, or Pseudo-Dionysius, sounds like great stuff.

Wait

"Wait" is a popular word in the book of Psalms. "I waited patiently for the Lord" 40:1. "But for thee O Lord do I wait; it is thou who wilt answer me" 38: 15. "And now Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you" 39:7. "Be still before the Lord and wait silently for Him" 37:7. "Truly my soul waits silently for God" 62:1.

I am not an expert in the Hebrew language, so I can't say for sure exactly what "wait" means. But I bet it's more than how we wait for a bus, or wait for this dentist visit to get over with. I think it's all that and more. It can be patient endurance, or active service. It may be focused attention. And I think it speaks to our desire, our active anticipation in what will surely come to pass.

What exactly are we waiting on? One would be the coming of Christ in his glory. Maranantha, Come O Lord! We wait for the kingdom of God to come; not only in that second coming of Christ but now as we bring peace, love and beauty to alleviate the suffering of others. We wait for Christ to be present to us each week in the Eucharist.

And while Christ is already present to us in many ways, we wait for the fulfillment of his union in us. As we abide in his presence, as we are mindful of his presence, we still wait for future iterations of his "being" with us.

Three choices

Seems to me that there are basically three choices in life. One, is to choose our own way and follow our own will. Two would be to accept God's will for our life, but do so grudgingly. And three, would be to accept God's will for our life, and do it with gratitude.

Every moment gives us the opportunity to make our choice. Life is made up of countless Monty Hall "Let's make a deal!' choices. Door A, Door B, or Door C. Like the old game show, we sometimes choose the door with the car, but it turns out to be a broken down Ford Pinto. And we passed on the door with the horse and buggy, only to find the buggy included a $10,000 check.

I heard a presentation yesterday by a monk from New Mellerey Abbey in Iowa. He was talking about obedience in the Benedictine tradition. Since he was speaking to laypeople, rather than focus on obedience to an Abbot, he talked about how we face choosing God's will in every moment of our lives. And in that present moment, we have the choice of obeying and choosing God's will or not.

For me, I think there are the three choices I mentioned. I say that because for 45 years I've become an expert in hedging my bet and choosing choice two. When it comes right down to it, I'll do what God says, but I don't always do it with a smile. I hold onto my receipt so that when things don't work out (just like I knew all along) I can go back to God for a refund. And maybe remind him I told him if I take that cross they are going to nail me to it. But then, that's the point. It's not about how I think things should turn out. It's about doing them, with gratitude, and embracing the cross I'm called to bear.

We are having a really hard time the last month with our 15 year old bipolar son. Summers are always a challenge. He has been very rebellious and rude, and has the household on eggshells wondering if or when we'll get the violent outburst and have to call the police. Another of our adopted children, now 18, has made the Marion County jail his home for the last 8 months and probably a few more.

What if I could have a conversation with God and make my choice again? What if he told me it's his will to open my home up to the fatherless and needy, but he would let me go back to 1989 and recant if I really wanted. What would I do? Door number 1, take the easy way and raise my two biological children and live how I want. Door number 2 (the one I've chosen), live in an inner city for several years, adopt 3 children in need of care, but complain bitterly to God about my lot every chance I get. Or door number 3, do what Christ did. Pick up my cross and obey, not with a stiff neck, but because I love God and trust Him. What a novel thought.

I think I'm going to see if I can change my choice. Because I'm learning choice number two really isn't an option. If it were, my life would be miserable and I'd be as annoying to God as fire ants at a summer picnic. And really, choice number three is where I will find peace. Unbelievable as it may seem to me at times, only when I learn obedience and gratitude will I be truly me, and truly happy.