LITTLE THINGS

Life, during these many weeks on the couch, has been all about the little things.  One of my biggest accomplishments yesterday was killing a fly that had been annoying me for some time.  I stalked him, laid in wait, tried to outsmart him, and then struck him down ruthlessly when the chance arose.  It was an event.  When there are no grand projects that can be accomplished, when there are no outings to be enjoyed, when there are few diversions in the course of very long days, the little things begin to loom very large.  Dinnertime is this huge high moment of enjoyment each day.  If someone visits, it becomes the very focal point.  I obsess over every passing sensation inside of my cast.  Getting to the bathroom is a fresh challenge to be mastered.  When Maureen brings me a drink, it feels like such a gift.  All the little things around me have taken on such import. 

Of course, this odd time in my life is just a reminder that all of our lives are really just a collection of little things.  Yes, we like to think we have a greater sense of purpose or direction.  We like to think that life as a whole has some great meaning.  And perhaps it does.  But the reality of our every day life is just a succession of little things.  We get up in the morning and brush our teeth and take a shower and brew some coffee and choose some clothes and fuss over all of the tiny tasks that make up each day.  Writing this article is one of the little tasks of my day today, and yes, there is an overall point to it (which I hope I eventually get to), but the task really consists of choosing words, one at a time, setting them down and choosing more.  Each sentence is a little thing that I create and it either works or it doesn’t, it is either beautiful or it isn’t, and the final product is just the cumulative result of a few hundred little choices.  

Our relationships are like this.  A friendship or a marriage has some larger context, but it is really made up of little moments, little gestures, kind or cruel words, glances, tones of voice, caresses or shuns.  A relationship is just the sum total of a thousand little decisions that we make each day about what to say or not to say, how to respond or avoid, when to be honest and when to hedge, moving closer and moving away.  And all of those little things matter because they are all we have.  The positive things; the intimate moments, the gifts the shared laughs; they accumulate and create the larger context that we call love.  Or the little negative moments; the bursts of anger, the choices to be somewhere else, the avoidance of contact, the moments of jealousy or resentment; they too build up and they create an uglier relationship.

Life IS just this collection of little things.  In our minds, we weave them into larger patterns and trends and stories.  But we can never forget how crucial the little things are.  Out spiritual lives are especially about the little things.  It would be wonderful if God could speak to us in some big booming voice and tell us who or how to be, but instead, what we have are a thousand little things.  God speaks to us in little moments of beauty, little momentary flashes of insight, small gifts of love, tiny fragments of vision.  The real task of faith is to be spiritually awake and aware enough to notice the little stuff and to allow it to touch us and teach us and move us.

The reason, of course, that God seems present most especially in the little things is because that is what God is made up of as well.  The God we worship is not some big looming overpowering presence “out there” somewhere, not some super being riding on clouds.  God is instead the still small spirit living in you and in me and in a million little others around us.  God is the tinge of eternity and beauty that glistens in a million little flowers spread across a million meadows.  God is the hint of grace that animates each of the million little moments that make up our days.

It is indeed, all about the little things.  The sum total of the little things is all we have; it is all we are; it is the heart of God.  So notice the little things.  Make each little moment mean something good.  Find the still, small voice of God echoing in the sound of a mosquito or the sight of a butterfly, or the touch of a lover or the kind word of a friend.  Little things.

David

(P.S.   I’ll be back in the pulpit on June 24.)

TEMPESTS IN TEAPOTS

By now, most of you know that I’m going to be missing from church for a few weeks this spring and early summer.  It’s not for an early vacation or anything enjoyable.  I’m having some major surgery to reconstruct my left foot.  I’m told that it means being pretty much housebound for five weeks and unable to use the foot for eight to ten weeks.  I’m told there will be pain and a somewhat uncertain outcome.

Not to make myself the center of this message, but to tell the truth, I’m scared to death.  I’m thinking about almost nothing else.  I’m picturing nightmare scenarios.  I’m feeling sorry for myself.  The problem is, this reaction is somewhat silly.  Given the illnesses that some others have that are life threatening or fatal, given the level of pain that so many others have to endure, given the limitations and life challenges that so many others have to face every day, being afraid of my little surgery makes me feel like such a wimp.  The truth is, being mostly healthy but for this little inconvenience, I should realize how truly lucky I am.  And intellectually I do, but… 

It all makes me realize how difficult it is for us to see the world and ourselves clearly.  We have such a limited perspective.  Most of the time we fail to recognize the enormity of what some others face and endure and sometimes overcome.  While in our own lives, every little bump and bruise looms large, every little disappointment or set-back seems so unfair, every trauma becomes the center of our own emotional melodrama.  We see the world only through our own eyes, and that always makes it look like we are the center of the universe.  It is no wonder that we are all capable of being so self centered and even selfish.  It is the most natural thing.

This is the reason why we need to cultivate a spiritual life.  A life of faith forces us to have a broader perspective; to see ourselves as one little part of a big interconnected whole; each of us tiny but sacred.  By believing that every one of us bears a piece of the spirit of God, we each become more able to see through the eyes of others, and this is the real magic of a meaningful life.  Being able to put oneself in another’s place, to feel their pain, to imagine the world from their point of view; this, more than anything else is what makes us fully human. 

Having a sense of the enormity and majesty of the presence of God’s in our lives reminds us that all of our little tempests happen in a teapot.  And at the same time, the intimacy and immediacy of that presence of God reminds us that even our little fears and foibles matter infinitely and even warrant the touch of grace. 

It is all about perspective.  In the life of the spirit, every occasion of fear or vulnerability makes us better able to understand and empathize with the struggles and trials of others.  Every daunting challenge or trauma brings us closer to each other.  The words of Henri Nouwen always inspire me in this way: 

“Then we discover that nothing human is foreign to us, but that all the hatred and love, cruelty and compassion, fear and joy can be found in our own hearts.  We have to confess that when others kill, I could have killed too.  When others torture, I could have done the same.  When others heal, I could have healed too.  And when others give life, I could have done the same.  There is nothing in me that you would find strange and there is nothing in you that I would not recognize.”

And so, next week, I will march off to the hospital knowing that my fears matter and that I share them with all of you.  And while it may feel like the “Bataan death march,” I will also have enough perspective to laugh at my own silly self and march on, knowing that wherever I am marching to, grace abounds.

(By the way, the other reason I write about this is to let you know that all appropriate provisions have been made for my absence.  Please know that Larry will ably handle any pastoral issues and will preach well, as always.  Linda Mahorter has kindly agreed to help out a couple of times in the pulpit at 8:30 and in North Gorham.  The Deacons are on top of everything.  All of our other committees have things firmly in hand.  And Sally will probably make the office function so much more smoothly with me out of the way.  I’ll return to the pulpit on June 24, albeit, sitting down.  I’ll see you all then.)

In Fear and Trembling,

David

HERE AND NOW

Have you ever slept so deeply that it was hard to remember where you were when you woke up?  I suspect that most have had the experience.  Recently, while traveling, I woke up in a hotel room and had a panicky minute and a half trying to remember where in the world I was.  That’s happened before.  But this time I had the feeling that I couldn’t even quite remember who I was.  It was a surreal moment when I had to try and reconstruct myself, waiting for the pieces of my life to fall back into place.  Who we are, of course, changes every day and depends upon the context in which we find ourselves and what our recent experiences have been.  Without remembering that context, our very sense of self is incomplete.

Descartes once wrote that sleep is a rehearsal for death and every morning is a resurrection.  That’s a great reminder to us that the resurrection miracle that we celebrate next week is not about some magical event that did or did not happen two thousand years ago.  It is instead about the way in which resurrection is a power of God in our lives in the here and now.  Usually we think about death and resurrection as a metaphor for the big and catastrophic events of our lives.  When a loved one dies a part of us dies with them and, over time, God resurrects our spirits.  When we face some life-changing illness a part of who we are dies and, over time, we pray that our wholeness will be resurrected.  A divorce is like a death to us and we hope for the power of God to resurrect our lives again.

But sleep is a wonderful way to understand that this power is more present in each of our everyday moment than we usually think.  Every night when we grow tired, we literally “go away” for a time.  We are no longer conscious, or functioning, or “present” in any of the ways that matter.  And what goes on in our sleep is a bit of a mystery as most of our dream-life is only half remembered.  We are for all intents and purposes “gone.”  And every morning we awaken to a slightly different world.  No, it doesn’t take a miracle of God to wake us up again (even though sometimes it feels like it might), but the point is that each morning is a new thing.  Sleep has been a break in the continuity.  The old day, even the old life, has passed away and something new is therefore possible.

That “newness,” bursting with possibilities and fecund with fresh potential, is what the power of resurrection is.  And it is available to us every moment.  We are not bound to the past—past patterns that feel dreadfully permanent, old hurts and grudges, bad and tired old habits, or the determinisms of our nature that we can’t seem to escape.  All of those things can die with each day and the new self that awakens every morning does not need to take them up again.  The good news of our faith is that when we let the past die, when we lay down the dead places in us, God raises us up, new and reborn every morning. 

So this Easter, don’t just think about celebrating a miracle long ago and imperfectly remembered, think about participating in the miracle that can happen every morning.  God makes all things new.  Yesterday is gone and the person that lived it is gone with it.  You are right here and right now, a new creation.

In Resurrection Faith,

David