Something Other...

 

I have been silent for a long time. My last published post was in June of 2022. This morning, for the first time in a long time, I found myself engaged in what I’ve previously (and admittedly, a bit facetiously) called “beditation.” In a half-awake state, connections seem to swarm and coalesce into meaning—all by themselves, like a murmuration of starlings all lifting and turning in the air at once. I found myself paying attention to a recent struggle I’ve been having between the way I use language, and some external standards that are being imposed on me from the world of academia.

(Some prior history: I participate in my community’s Theology School, and those of us who are seeking ordination are expected to write “reflection papers” on the topics of each semester. Halfway through my course of study, it appeared to me that the goalposts had been moved. This was even more disconcerting to me, since I had not conceived of the process as one that even required goalposts. I had previously turned in a number of papers written in my own style, during the period when I was pursuing a program of independent study at my own pace. Then, during Covid, an online group study program was instituted: a Theology School, and for the first time, one of my papers was rejected. In the spirit of cooperation, I rewrote my paper, and it was accepted. All well and good, you might think, but no— I found myself struggling with a pervasive sense that I had been somehow betrayed, and also that I was betraying some essential aspect of my own understanding by rewriting this paper using a language I felt was deeply inauthentic.)

Anyway, my ‘beditation’ this morning revolved around betrayal, especially in connection with something Martin Shaw recently wrote in his blog “The House of Beasts and Vines.”

“What kind of betrayal have we so metabolized it made us wiser not dumber?”

Although I’m not sure that I’ve completed the digestion process, I did suddenly become aware that I was doing exactly that: metabolizing betrayal— and I was doing it in a manner that did feel “wiser, not dumber.” I also think that Shaw must have used the word “dumber” on purpose, and I wonder if I’d better keep my mouth shut until I've finished this metabolic transformation, and remain “dumb.” Oh well....

Many other threads fed themselves into this ‘beditation’: a thread attached to all the other betrayals in my life; a thread attached to the catchphrase of our community: to be as Christ to those we meet; to find Christ within them; a thread attached to the how and where of looking for Christ; a thread attached to Jungian dream analysis; a thread attached to the notion that when one goes honestly looking one may find something unexpected, surprising, and possibly disturbing; and a thread attached to my nagging sense that my reluctance to conform and comply in the matter of language is born of wisdom, and not just stubbornness or willfulness. The whole flock of these threads murmurated in my mind and betrayed me into a scary place. “To be as Christ to those I meet” within the context of betrayal— the first part was easy: it’s obvious that Christ was betrayed. But the other part: “To find Christ within them” was more challenging. Looking for Christ in those who betray me, and following my sense that betrayal leads me to betray something as well, caused me to ask this scary question: “How is it that Christ betrays us?” I’m sure that Judas felt betrayed. Maybe others felt betrayed too.. those followers who turned away and said, “This teaching is too hard.” Even the Pharisees probably felt betrayed. After all, shouldn’t Jesus by all rights have been a Pharisee too?

It's funny, but it occurred to me that Christ has betrayed me by showing me that I too can betray, and have betrayed. Maybe that’s the reason it’s such a hard saying: “If you don’t eat and drink me, you can’t be part of G*d.”

That made think of the other hard saying: “If you want to follow me, you’ll have to pick up and carry the means of your own execution, just as I do.” Maybe the meat and drink of Heaven is just that: betrayal.

Maybe that’s exactly our job as followers of Christ: To metabolize betrayal into wisdom. I had to laugh, because if I carry that analogy to extreme (and absurd) lengths, then that equates Love with stomach acid: the means by which I digest that dense and fatty betrayal and turn it into some sort of useful insight and understanding.

Yay.

It still remains for me to deal with the truth of this wisdom: My heart knows that to change my language would somehow damage my deepest understanding. In another phrase from Martin Shaw, if I aspire to be “the remedy arriving from the margins” —if what I hope to be the essence and core of my priesthood lies in this very word-ministry; this Voice from the Hinterland; this Wind from Otherwhere, then I must not accept any facsimile in exchange for the honest language I’ve struggled to craft for so many years. If that hope is unfounded, then the call I’ve felt for so long must be for something other than priesthood.

Wow, did that echo! — the words “something Other….”

 

Another thing that arrived in my mind, just before I threw my covers back and let the cold air in:

 

I imagined a theology version of Jeopardy,

with priestly ordination as the prize.

I said, “I’ll take “Ministry” for a thousand,”

and the little ‘ding’ noise rotated the pane,

but it was just a blue blank,

nothing was written there.

Nevertheless I eagerly banged on the button

and framed my answer in the form of a question,

one which I was certain was correct:

“What is G*d?”