Two essays, The Meandering Mind of a Reluctant Disciple [April 2016], and A Lenten Practice [March 2018] are combined and updated for this piece June 2020. Recent events, the Covid-19 pandemic and ongoing racial injustice, the latter again making headlines with the murder of George Floyd on May 25, 2020 deepened my doubts and questions about God.
Lent, the season of reflection and preparation before the celebration of Easter, began in 2018 on February 14th, Ash Wednesday. The first of two brief readings I had chosen for that day was written by Henri Nouwen in Bread for the Journey:
“We all have dreams about the perfect life: a life without pain, sadness, conflict, or war. The spiritual challenge is to experience glimpses of this perfect life right in the middle of our many struggles.”
That morning as I opened the adult coloring book to pursue my Lenten coloring practice, his words thread their way through my soul, the seat of my mind and passions, those known and unknown, both the conscious and the unconscious. I picked from among the dozens of coloring pens randomly placed in mason jars on one of the windowsills in the waiting area adjoining my home office—neon colored ones, some with glitter, others traditional—all waiting to be chosen as instruments to express my artistic muse. I dream of perfection, coloring within the lines, and struggle to let go of that “craziness” and replace those thoughts with acceptance of my outside-the-lines flawed artistic strokes.
It’s a battle, but I keep coloring, cross over the lines, breathing, smiling, cursing, and hoping for respite in spite of the inner demand to create a masterpiece. When frustration’s vice-like grip overwhelms me, I dance—also a Lenten practice I’ve adopted. One which I unwittingly revealed to the UPS driver as he placed a package on the porch and caught sight of me doing a wild and silly version of the lindy hop while circling the island in the kitchen. He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up as I exorcised my demons.
In Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations, Frederick Buechner writes about observing Lent and suggests that during this time “Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.” His suggestion prompted my own questions as I wondered: Is there a God?, What does it mean to be me?, What is the meaning of Life?, and Why am I here?
Henri and Frederick became daily companions as I colored and danced, read and journaled, sought God and answers, took in new questions while rehashing old ones, colored outside the lines, and on occasion found fleeting stillness amidst the restless doubt and questioning.
I tried embracing Freud’s contention that belief in God, the ultimate loving father, was my human yearning to make sense out of the chaos in the world, the pain, sadness, conflict, and injustices we inflict on others and ourselves. Though his idea, perhaps belief, made rational sense it remained an inadequate explanation for the vigor behind both my wrestling with doubt and the joy of the “dance.”
The final days of the Season of Lent approached and on an early Sunday morning, Palm Sunday to be exact, I drove the short distance to Trinity Episcopal Church in Shelburne, Vermont to attend a worship service. During the homily I knew I’d be reminded that Jesus’ Passion was about to unfold. I thought of his entry into Jerusalem, a disappointing time with his reluctant disciples, a mock trial and crucifixion in which his own people, Jews, and Roman authorities were complicit—a week of confusion, dashed hopes, broken hearts, and unbearable sadness.
Damn, I thought as I drove through part of Vermont’s bucolic Champlain Valley, can’t we skip The Passion and go straight to The Resurrection!
Remembering Henri Nouwen’s words to find a glimpse “…of this perfect life right in the middle of our struggles,” I opened the center console then blindly chose one from among a variety of CDs, a random act that brought immediate relief. I love music and the feelings artists stir in my soul—The Five Satins, The Platters, Willie Nelson, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Vladimir Horowitz, Jessye Norman, Jussi Bjorling, and Itzhak Perlman, to name a few. I pushed the CD into place and turned up the speakers.
As I reached the crest of the hill north of Mount Philo, Little Caesar & The Romans were singing the Doo-wop classic “Those Oldies but Goodies (Remind Me of You)”—a fitting selection given this day.
Doo-wop, created on inner-city street corners by black and white, male and female singers who were more interested in harmonizing and having fun stretching their vocal “instruments” in a capella arrangements than in getting words and phrases “right,” was filling the space inside my Volvo as I trekked across pastures and farm land, The Green Mountains on my right and The Adirondacks to the west.
This little Caesar and his Romans sang with bravado, snapping their fingers and tapping their feet. I sang along. Alternately singing lead well above my register then dropping my jaw to mimic the deep ‘n low sounds of the bass.
I love to lip-sync with the harmonizing voices, and wondered if, in happier times Jesus’ followers didn’t feel a similar exhilaration in his presence. I’ve imagined Jesus dancing, and perhaps doing so with Mary Magdalene while the fisherman-disciples snapped their fingers and tapped their feet against the hulls of their beached fishing boats. Saint Peter might have been the lusty bass, Matthew the soaring tenor, Thomas the one providing a rich baritone, Judas creating rhythm by shaking the small bag of tribute pennies tied around his waist, and Mary and Joanna (mother of James), the incredible back-up singers.
I can also picture them on the road, blending voices in heart-felt harmonies, making up lyrics and nonsense syllables of love and loss during breaks between treks across the sweltering countryside and barren landscapes while wondering what could Jesus be thinking or planning. Would he stop for prayer, tell a puzzling parable, heal a sick child, comfort an outcast, commit a mind-boggling miracle, gently but firmly confront religious hypocrites, expose ethnic injustice and financial inequities, or just keep dancing down the road?
The Palm Sunday liturgical worship service was a blur to me as I enjoyed thoughts of the coloring book, meditations I’d read, music I had enjoyed, and as time came for the sacrament of Holy Communion, I realized I’d already been participating in a sumptuous feast. The Great Mystery had been present throughout: in the music of the street, in my fantasies, my lamentations, and my joy.
Neither Nouwen nor Buechner suggest anything other than, simply, God is.
by 
This was wonderful. Thank you for the dance of life you captured in this piece. I felt your sense of wonder, the What’s It All About, Alfie-ness and it made me feel good. I felt your love of life with all its mysteries, injustices and kindnesses. I am always in awe of your faithfulness to church and your search for the meaning of God.
As I read your words, I became aware of how deeply I believe in the goodness of humanity and it is that goodness that will create the waters to rise above this moment.
Jo Anne,
I hope you are correct in writing “…that goodness that will create waters to rise above this moment.
And, may God help us get there! Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts.
Roger
Your profound writing, once again brings me back to many years ago. That time in my life makes me realize that “RACISM” is an indignity that keeps itself alive at the terrible expense and DEATH of other human beings. As a Marine stationed at Vallejo, Calif.in the late 60’s we were mobilized for possible assistance during rising racial tensions. Local enforcement managed the struggle so we never were called. Nothing has changed in over 50 years!!!!! How has this darkness come upon America? Why isn’t every race accepted? This has nothing to do with God but is the manifestation of humanity’s inhumanity. God help us all.
Tom,
Thank you for reading and sharing your story. “How has this darkness come upon America?” and “Why isn’t every race accepted?” are two great questions that [even] a stable full of bright caring people might find difficult to answer. Human beings are complicated and complex. I hope we find our way. Though there has been change since the ’60’s that change is far from enough. Robert Browning wrote that a man’s reach should exceed his grasp. I wish we’d come closer.
Roger
Your words and musings reflect beautifully your thoughts and feelings, coloring outside the lines to create a passionate picture of living life as fully as you can to experience and express the yin and yang of it all. Fleeting glimpses of peace and joy amidst all the ongoing turmoil and deep sorrow we all must accept and feel. Indeed, God is the creator and expects us to live, love, and learn while seeking to understand and embrace the holy whole of all that is the great mystery. Listening and singing along with the music, dancing wildly as you are moved, helps to find balance along this magical mystical journey, and surely God is in this place with us. Write on and on, mon ami.
Colette,
Thank you for commenting. We cry, ache, despair, shake our heads and hope that joy, laughter, healing, and a deeper commitment to making Creation a better place for all of us will occur.
God, are you there, listening?
Roger
Thank you for a very uplifting share. It occurs to me that your “struggling with all of you” is one way of doing God’s work on earth.
Ned,
Thanks for reading, commenting, and your encouraging words. Though I’m certain there’s more to us than what our senses tell us, I sure hope our footprint has a touch of the divine in it!
Roger
A reader who wishes to be anonymous commented:
“I do read your pieces. I hope it’s just an aging issue but they seem to require multiple readings for me to (almost) fully absorb your important messages. Writing takes more discipline than most people have. I appreciate the time and effort you put into sharing your thoughts and experiences. I remember hearing years ago that faith is a gift. I have thought about this many times. While I would not say it’s a gift I receive, I would say I received a very small amount. This seems consistent with the fact that throughout my life I have been a constant worrier. The past few months have been fearful and demoralizing. The administration’s foolish and inept handling of Covid was, and continues to be a disaster. The Bible incident lowered the bar for heartless autocratic behavior. It feels that caring, decent people are being subjected daily to the emotional equivalent of “running the gauntlet.” [Our president] does not emote unless he goes into vindictive mode. He [seems to have] zero humanity or compassion. I wish I had faith that we will get through this.
Thank you for reading and sharing your concerns, ones many have in these troubling times. The prophet Isaiah wrote about a time when opposing forces, natural enemies, predators and victims, and waring factions will be at peace with each other, trusting, caring, and embracing each other. That time cannot come soon enough
Thank you,
Roger
I like the picture you paint here. The piece definitely seems like one that should be included in a book!
I am not ready to dance yet, or even to try. I am still on my knees, cradling George Floyd’s head in my lap. I am Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus, weeping, and crying out to Jesus, “Where were you Lord? If only you had been here…” Where were you…if only. Perhaps this is its own kind of dance.
Cindy,
This is its own kind of dance, one we wish would end. Perhaps the Band Leader is present, weeping as we are, questioning too. Please, we shout, change the music!
Roger
God is within me that is my belief as in “God is everywhere.” It is God within that is the strength and resolve to see us through this era of struggle- an internal locus of control. Not an external savior waving a magic wand to make everything right. It will take all of us working together for better or worse to see this thing through. I am hopeful!
Dona,
Sometimes I need to stop whatever I’m doing to grasp God’s presence everywhere and in everyone! Thanks for reading, commenting, and reminding my to open my senses and take in The Divine!
Roger
Roger,
You have written another masterpiece. I tend to agree with Ned. In struggling with yourself, you are doing the work and will of God on earth. I believe that this also includes play. It is the struggles we have that let us know whom really is in charge.
Cy
Cy,
God is at play when Roger is at play makes sense, I love it, even if and when my playtime hasn’t been Godly! Comforting to know from you and others that we have quite the band of vigorous truth-seekers–embracing faith and hope in it’s many colors and tones. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
A reader, who asked to be anonymous, wrote:
“Your post was uplifting and full of hope…You write thoughtfully, inspirationally, descriptions and turns of phrase that portray yours and everyone’s angst right now–intimate glimpses of your own existential struggling, and ways of coping and being gentle with yourself. I found myself looking at me own life and realize that I crave a more intimate healing experience in order to feel hope during these depressing times–acts of creating art and listening or dancing to music have always helped soothe me, but now I long for more personal contact, a random tender kiss to show I’m loved, a hug that reassures me that I have a shoulder for comfort, a picked flower given as a gift of affection, an arm around me as I usually walk alone, a greeting of joy when I’m home at last and safe. Do any of us really get to enjoy that? I look at myself and ask whether or not I give those things to anyone else. Do I comfort anyone with my presence, my smile, hug or shoulder? The experience I crave to comfort me is probably what would touch and heal all of us…”
In a follow-up comment: Yesterday I wrote about my low spirit, the sadness brought on by the pain and chaos in our country, and needing a comforting gesture of love to buoy me. My lovely El Salvadoran tenant and housekeeper shared a delicious lunch she’d made. The meal of chicken, rice, avocado and salad fed my physical and spiritual hunger. Tom and his wife, Lynda, often share their tasty dinners with me, always more than I would cook for myself. Though they say this is an expression of gratitude for using my hot tub I know it’s deeper than that–like my tenant they’re kind, loving people who I consider “God’s angels.” God gives me what I need to thrive, knows my heart, and my soul. I need to stop and pay attention.