It’s the afternoon of Sunday, November 27th., shortly after church. Election Day and Thanksgiving are behind us, but the journey to get to this First Sunday of Advent was a troublesome one.
Thanksgiving is the day that I make a concerted effort to be thankful. This year it couldn’t come soon enough, because since the election I’ve been roiling in a mix of anger and angst, grateful for little and doubting much. Lapses in hope in our secular world’s capacity to find healing and in my spiritual world to find solace were becoming more frequent. The fundamental cornerstones of my soul’s wellbeing had given way to an attachment to righteous indignation seasoned by an overpowering dose of schadenfreude.
Where was the quietness in my heart, the gratefulness I practice, let alone the capacity to listen and understand the source(s) of my soul’s restlessness and turmoil?
I arrived at Trinity twenty minutes before the worship service, and though the nave of the church was sparsely occupied with friends and fellow parishioners, I sat alone in my accustomed alcove seat, seeking a moment to reflect on my troubled state of being. During this time of reflection I began to find the stillness and peace that had been eluding me for weeks.
Lewis B. Smedes, my favorite and inspiring seminary professor, wrote Shame and Grace in which he quotes the German writer and statesman, Johann Goethe: “When we treat a man as he is, we make him worse than he is. When we treat him as if he is already what he potentially could be, we make him what he should be.” Dr. Smedes goes on to write that grace is “the gift of being accepted before we become acceptable.”
I looked up at the ceiling and marveled at the art work, then turned my attention to the stained glass windows, the myriad narratives depicted, and the connections I make with them—the ones that draw me beyond the daily events of life that seem so urgent, compelling and often suffocating.
Minutes before the organist began playing the introit, I recalled the words of Frederick Buechner, a quote that a client referenced in an email: “Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments.”
Buechner’s book, Now and Then, is on a shelf directly across the room from where I’m typing. It, along with Shame and Grace, have been read and thumbed through many times, sentences highlighted and pages dog-eared. “Now and then” is a wonderful phrase that captures this moment in time for me.
Every once in a while I get it. Occasionally, and from time to time, I’m surprised that it’s taken me, your reluctant disciple, so long.
by 
Thank you for sharing this quiet reflection. It made me want to do the same. I read your post and took a deep breath. To stop. To breathe. Yes, all moments are key moments. Life is going on all around me and in me and it’s beautiful.
Jo Anne,
Thank you for commenting, and reflecting on your own experience–stopping and breathing while all that’s around you is taken in. Key moments are within and without, and often experienced only when we stop to breathe.
Roger
Hey Roger,
Nice post, but poignant for me as it brought back all of my memories and times with Dr. Smedes. First as his student, then when I received his personal as I was dropping out of seminary (but his counsel is what also brought me back to complete my degree), then as his book editor, doing wonderful and thoughtful books with him, especially Forgive & Forget. And then I wrote about him in the first edition of Random Acts of Kindness. Then the horrible news of his death by an accident. One of my best friends in publishing, Jon Pott, former editor in chief at Eerdmans was also his editor (magazine and books) and we loved working together with Lew. Your post also reminds me of wonderful times having drinks with him and his wife and daughter. One time Lew and I drank well into the wee hours, talking exactly about the issues in your post, what memories.
Hi Roy,
Thank you for adding these thoughts. His home was always open to students. I too have fond memories of being in his presence, his curiosity, warmth, and willingness to intellectually and spiritually engage without judgment or criticism. He shared his soul’s journey freely, and often with accompanying cigarettes and “good drink.” His memorial service was a wonderful celebration with tears and laughter. Weren’t we fortunate!
Roger
I love the idea of treating people in the way they can become. All of us can learn to live fully into who we are intended to be. That often requires us to break free from the shackles of other people’s expectations of us. However, I have learned that should be done respectfully
Alan,
Breaking free gently and with respect can seem counterintuitive because being shackled to others or our own erroneous expectations is uncomfortable if not painful. Respectful non-violence, when violent response appears justified, is demanding of our souls. Thanks for your comments, and it is comforting to know I have company on this journey.
Roger
Now and Then is a book I, too have read many times. Thank you, my friend for bringing it back into my thoughts.
Rick,
Thank you for reading and commenting on this piece–a freeing but difficult one to write. You and “our man” share the same spelling of your first names, and as I know you a bit, you share a similar quest and spiritual journey–I’m in good company. A close friend sent me an article on the value of reading books. We, as readers, immerse ourselves in the narrative thereby providing respite or escape from the discomfort of the world to which we awakened on a daily basis. Reading also opens us to the truths for which we doggedly search–both are commendable pursuits with satisfying if not deeply enriching results.
Again, thank you, my friend,
Roger
A friend responded with the following: “It is tough to keep your balance in a fractured world. We are so connected to the pain and suffering that exists 24-7. Finding solace is hard, but “now and then” we feel it on a quiet beach or wooded hill or in an alcove seat in church. It is a momentary escape and a temporary peace.”