Not So (Koan)

Preface:

“Did not! Did so!” Who’s contradicting who? Is somebody scared of falling? Meanwhile, windy arguments get blown off course in the dark. When fear is agreeable, instantly there’s solid ground.


Main Case: (Lectionary 2-1-20)

Genesis 18:1-16

¹⁵ Sarah denied it, saying, “I didn’t either laugh,” because she was afraid. He said, “Not so — you did laugh.”

Hebrews 10:26-39

³¹ It is a terrifying thing to fall into the hands of the living God!

John 6:16-27

By now it was dark, Yeshua had not yet joined them, ¹⁸ and the sea was getting rough, because a strong wind was blowing. ¹⁹ They had rowed three or four miles when they saw Yeshua approaching the boat, walking on the lake! They were terrified; ²⁰ but he said to them, “Stop being afraid, it is I.” ²¹ Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and instantly the boat reached the land they were heading for.

Appreciatory Verse:



Out on the water in the dark—



Sliding off the thwarts

butt in the bilge

blinking away the wind-shear.



In the teeth of terror

God says, “Not so..”



Commentary: (Midrash)

I’ve written reflections on these verses before, and I am always struck by the symbolism. Denial, terror, darkness, rough water, wind, trust, solid ground.

The Greek word for “wind” in the New Testament has the implication of “a wind of shifting doctrine” which always tickles me. If I parse it out metaphorically, I get some interesting results. Also, in Zen koan study, tradition dictates that the student pay attention to every detail and investigate every aspect.

Off we go!

So, first, there’s Sarah snorting with derisive laughter, and then denying it to God’s face, because she was scared. God instantly puts her on solid ground by playing “neener-neener” with her. How can you keep on being afraid of a God who’s willing to act like a kid in the back seat of a car on a long road trip?

Then there’s old Paul getting wound up about the terror of falling into God’s clutches. Oddly, he seems to think that this existential terror is also somehow reassuring, but he doesn’t lower his standards in order to explain. I’m pretty sure he could hold his own with any ancient Zen master.

Lastly, we’ve got the metaphorical storm. The literal context is this: Jesus ran off into the hills to hide from the crowd. The crowd wouldn’t stop pestering the disciples, so they got into a boat without him and rowed off into the sunset. It got dark and windy and rough out there on the lake. Jesus shows up, they invite him onto the boat, and suddenly they find themselves at their destination; feet firmly planted on solid ground.

Metaphorically, the context is this: The disciples created a perfect storm of argument and debate, with a gale-force wind of contentious and anxious opinions rocking their ego-boat. They couldn’t see a way out of the darkness of doubt, until Jesus “walked right over” their arguments. He said, “don’t be anxious, it’s me.” The disciples shut up, and immediately realized that the choice was between trust and anxiety. (The Greek word for fear in this passage can also be translated as “to be reluctant, to scruple, to be apprehensive.”) They chose trust over doubts. Instantly there was no more reason to be arguing, and all their vociferous opinions scattered and sank. Hmm, feels like solid ground…

Of course, no commentary would be complete without an effort to relate these observations to myself.

It’s easy to enter a space of contentiousness. Once there, the only way out is to put my teeth together and stop the ‘Idiot Wind’ from blowing through them. (Bob Dylan)

The difficult part is the practice of trust that allows me to recognize that I need to be willing to let God climb aboard my little ego-boat. It’s also difficult to remember that the practice is always opaque. I’m reminded of the “thick darkness” described in “The Cloud of Unknowing.” It’s always the first time, every time. No matter how often I practice it, I always end up in the same boat, rocking in the same waves out in the dark.

Not to be discouraged though, because every time I shut up and realize that once again I’ve tried to pretend that I’m all alone in my very own boat, it’s then that I recognize the voice that says the same thing every time:

“Not so…”