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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