And Having Done All, To Stand


Ephesians 6:10-20

My personal motto comes from this passage: Et Omnibus Perfectis Stare—And Having Done All, To Stand.

It’s the passage about putting on the ‘armor of God’, making each piece of armor represent a desirable quality of a person’s spiritual character.

For the first time, I dislike the CJB translation, but here it is anyway:

13 So take up every piece of war equipment God provides; so that when the evil day comes, you will be able to resist; and when the battle is won, you will still be standing. 14 Therefore, stand! Have the belt of truth buckled around your waist, put on righteousness for a breastplate, 15 and wear on your feet the readiness that comes from the Good News of shalom.[c] 16 Always carry the shield of trust, with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the Evil One. 17 And take the helmet of deliverance; along with the sword given by the Spirit, that is, the Word of God;

Of course, the reason I don’t like this translation is because it mangles my motto, which I am understandably fond of.  So, in the effort to preserve the meaning that I had always attached to the verse, I looked up the Latin translation, and confirmed the meaning. (There is also nothing in the Latin or the Greek about ‘battles’ being ‘won’.) To be doubly sure, I looked up the Greek and got a pleasant surprise. The Greek translation (which is the original language) says something more like “and having figured out (worked out) the whole, to stand firm.” —“ho kai katergazomai hapas histemi.” “Katergazomai” translates as “to work out; to effect; to bring out as a result.” It also translates as “to realize in practice.” Histemi means “to stand fast, be firm, be permanent, endure.”

This brings me to one of my favorite authors, Maggie Ross, who has a lot to say about the value of figuring things out, or working things out. She emphatically recommends “experimenting” over “experiencing” in the context of a spiritual practice. Here’s some of what she has to say about it: “And this brings us to the heart of the problem, for the word "experience" as we use it today is solipsistic, a reflexive function of self-consciousness, rather than an interpretation that is put to the test, which was the original meaning of the word 'experience'.”


So, my Zen take on this would be: “and realizing everything through your practice, carry on.” (From the Greek.)

I had more trouble with the Latin because I don’t understand how to conjugate it. I’m guessing the literal translation from the Latin would be something like “and having (or receiving) the perfection of all, to stand.  (‘Perfectis’ is the dative plural of ‘perfectus’, and although I don’t comprehend grammatical cases well at all, Grammar Monster (online) says that the dative case shows the indirect object of a verb. That means that the object of the sentence is the one receiving the “perfection.” So the subject is God, the object (unstated) is the people of the church at Ephesus, and the indirect object is the thing that they are receiving, which is “perfection.”)

I know this post is pretty dry and academic, so I’m going to go back to my original understanding of the passage. I lived for many years in the endeavor to live as a “warrior.” It started with my conscious choice to respond to fear with courage, and with my discovery of the beauty of traditional Japanese Karate. I immersed myself in trying to live according to the ideals embodied in the practice of Karate. Eventually I was able to live this ideal as part of my career as a police officer. The reality, however, never quite lived up to the ideal. Instead of becoming disillusioned, I started to “experiment” with my understanding. It became evident that the notion I had about what it meant to be a warrior was a fragile one, riddled with fault lines. I don’t want to go on to the point of yawning, so I will condense. The first step was recognizing that my whole philosophy grew out of a place of fear. I realized that I could not hold on to my philosophy without holding on to my fear. Fear was the scaffolding that supported my “warrior” attitudes. Eventually I came to a new place, mostly through the influence of the Lindisfarne Community.

Here, I want to share part of what I said at my reception as a Novice in the Community:

“Right now I am experiencing profound life changes, which began with a severe injury in 2013 that ended my career as a police officer. My world was demolished, along with all sense of who I was and how I fit in. At the same time, I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome (or Autism Spectrum Disorder). I received confirmation of the diagnosis in the hospital the day after my surgery. I was alone at home during my long convalescence, and during that time I made a conscious choice not to try and build back my image of myself; to try to live without my old anxious antagonism and careful contrivances, and to try and meet each moment with no expectations and no preconceptions; with an open and outward-looking heart.

I am retired now, and I have a consummate chance to transform the entire context of my life; to examine all of my habits and assumptions; all of my opinions and attitudes; all of my likes and dislikes. I believe that in the Lindisfarne Community I will find companions whose highest aim is to live the way of Christ in faithfulness, simplicity, and freedom; who try their hardest to act out of compassion and honest good will; who know from experience that fear and trust work well in harness together, and who welcome everyone who wants to do the same.”

The most important reason I wanted to quote this, is the line: “…who know from experience that fear and trust work well in harness together, and who welcome everyone who wants to do the same.

That sums it up for me, pretty much. My motto remains, but transfigured: “and realizing everything through your practice, carry on.”



The battlefield is empty and the smoke blows by.

Crows croak overhead.

There are no more stands to make.

Even so, I will always find myself

standing anywhere I stand. So,

I’ll stand in that old war-wagon over there,

 pick up the reins, cluck to those tired,

faithful donkeys, called “Fear” and “Trust,”

and creak my way off this field of bones.

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