Threshold

Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for strength only, and not for solace; for renewal only, and not for pardon.

(The original from Eucharistic Prayer C in the BCP is: “for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”)

It struck me hard a few weeks ago, that I had been doing exactly that— presuming to come to God’s Table  for courage only, and not for comfort; for adjustment only and not for absolution; for endurance only, and not for enjoyment; for patience only, and not for peace; for wisdom only, and not for wittiness; for restraint only, and not for relief.

Odd isn’t it, this bassackwardness? Maybe it’s due to my Asperger’s, and is related to my problem with the Golden Rule, which I have had to amend so that it reads more like this:

“Do unto others according to your best guess as to what they would do unto you, if they were doing unto you what they would want you to do unto them.”



My life has taken on a different aspect recently, due to my decision to leave the church that I’ve belonged to for the last 20 years or so. It was a layered decision, one with many sedimentary strata of habits, attitudes, and experiences. I left because I’d come to understand that I was operating under a kind of constraint. I was living in the shadows, skirting around the edges, censoring my ideas, and complying with restrictions. My responsibilities were invisible ones, safely underneath everyone’s radar. My job had become a leaking dike with too many holes in it for the number of thumbs I had available to plug them.

I realized that all of my reasons for continuing to be a part of my local church community were based on other people’s expectations and assumptions. That, by itself, would not have been enough to persuade me to leave, but my realization that what I was doing was indeed presumptuous — that was more than enough. I was living under a double standard. I was the capable one, the strong one, the one that could take care of things, the one that always stepped up to the plate, the reliable one, the one that came up with answers. Don’t get me wrong, none of that is bad by itself! No, the bad thing was this: I had relieved everyone else of responsibility. I was enabling, is what I was doing! I was letting folks keep their blinders on; I was allowing them to safely ignore the 400 lb. gorilla in the room, while I learned how to dance the gorilla two-step with it.

It’s been very hard for me to come up with words to describe these understandings, and I think that’s because I’m in a liminal space which exists on its own account. It’s an enormously potent act, to inhabit that compelling space in equanimity, , without expectations.




Threshold



Over me

a lintel—

or is it a wing?



Below me

a scuffed sill—

whose tracks are these?



My breath

enjambed

by possibilities—

is this what it takes?



Hanging

in this unseen doorway—

is anybody home?