2022-10-18 A Meditation on Spirit in the Clamor

““You, therefore, shall prophesy against them all these words, and say to them: “ ‘The Lord will roar from on high, and from his holy habitation utter his voice; he will roar mightily against his fold, and shout, like those who tread grapes, against all the inhabitants of the earth.” (Je 25:30 ESV)

The courageous front line soldier and the roar of battle evoke the deeper plane of Jesus Himself. He is no frightened soul, but a soul who brings the fight to our doorstep precisely because we have deeper products, experiences, trainings, knowledge, and education than what the rabble rouser will respect. He is a soul who rises up with alacrity, to the din of the fight. We hear, in the wild clamor of war, soul going the way of the Cross, a brave way, a steadfast way, a secretly quiet and calm way even as rockets explode on all sides, and grenades try to muddle and detract from any cohesive, lauding, presence of mind and stasis.

Jesus’s was a fighting spirit, no forced “fit” for the uniform but one that came naturally and celebrated heartily the spiritual enervation of evil in our midst. Evil was enervated, through healings, through wakened experiences of forgiveness, both met out and received in ourselves. So the roar is calling to the Jesus in our midst, to be our courage and be our strength and be our purpose and be our pluck for the battle.

Thus we see matter-of-fact resilience stronger, not weaker, for the portrayal of the fight. Our notional forgiveness, at times on pause in our heart truth be told, is a forgiveness Real and meted out to us; no time to fuss, no time to dally, we were called and consecrated to something Bigger, and our lives here on this metaphorical line—at times a literal line we walk courageously and safely held for the risk—are lives Aware, Awake, Alit with flashing inspiration, steel in our eyes, promise over unto life’s most fulfilling moments being found where we had no designs nor clutching rationales, but were simply shown mercy in our heart of hearts by the Call unto a battle and a Reality more strong than anything we can stagemanage or plan for.

Jesus died for us. Preachers debate whom in their ranks is submitted enough, has suffered sufficient loss to be sapient and knowing, who is preaching a message that meets with scoffing and retraction from naysayers. Yet all of us are; we need not nurse the more painful gestations, aspects, visages of our top-to-bottom faith; instead, we understand mercy for the one tormented and judged by her or his fellow man: “this one drives us zany with their uncouthness!”; “this one just doesn’t match up, doesn’t vibe, is bothersome!”; “this one, I simply mistreated in times past, and the memory they evoke is too difficult for me”.

Preachers corral a believing cohort when they properly teach from the heart. Such is the wild forward attack, forward position, forward lunge, of a passionate Christ, who risked death until death came a-knocking for real this time. He taught us to Believe in a package deal, safety and rest just for this night if not for tomorrow, a calm that has dealt with the panic attack and any doubts as to what Holy Service one signed up for. Somehow, He was all that history books needed, not a multitude of Jesuses, not a constant reminder, but all wrapped up in this historical figure, who centralized prayer and miracle, who did things no one else could quite pull off, making the blind see and the lame walk. “He said to him, ‘If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.’ ”” (Lk 16:31). And such are each of us, followers, disciples, a heavenly host, and at the ready for Divine Orders.

For those still fussing or caught up in webs of intrigue, there is the tantric, meditative, experience of concession. There is the spirit of submitting to the Spirit of spirits, the One called Holy. In this experience that some strong ones in our midst do let out to the weaker or more bound up, is an experience of lasting courage newly-found, of the joke none of us saw, of the resolution of experiences that for some are sheer terror, pain, unwanted grabbing, and fears of complicity. Each of us fears to be complicit in evil’s wide net. Each of us feels to have been manhandled and robbed, denied our proper knock-at-the-door experience of how Jesus does approach and work with us. Each of us knows a society that some have made into panic mode with shrill truth claims and hurry-ups. So the war is no battle between the generic woman and the generic man, it is no slanderous insistence all of us become theologians and judges, but in some sense it is frontline and front and center, this being a theological age, but too a scientific and technological and laboring and mass-produced age, an age of ideas and of that baseline of peace that we hold fast to, damn the torpedoes some say, but that we also are humble enough to lay down the self-righteous crusade (though we be right), and to mete out love and compassion for the one long and far behind in their own “homework”; the one awaking to a world they have not sufficiently prepared for; the one hurrying-up the ostensible enemy leader, thinking to make some peaceful arrangement thereby.

The soldier is already at war in a way that many, unfamiliar with war, not having themselves made the life decision to enlist, do need some help taking the first baby steps in. A fast accomplishes this, some say: to learn the question mark that hangs over everything we ingest and every passion and lust we tackle; that question mark is the prayer before eating a meal; it is the constant prayer that evolves and ripens in our hearts, so that we need no longer worry because we have moved beyond observing times and seasons. Yet still we observe those: what does it mean, spiritually, if I indulge myself; is that not harbinger of deeper faultlines I might not stand against with resolve? Yet is it also a case of knowing what Grace is, the mercy for a frustrated and wandering soul. It is also to turn us outward, finally to ask for proper help with those things that do occupy the mind, the murders and spiritual malaise on all sides, the haywire world, the earthquakes and birth pains.

The slander others speak does take down, unfortunately, some of our most pristine and holy reserves and thoughts. “Oh, so-and-so spoke down about that thing”; “Oh, I never thought to consider the alternative”. Friends, we are those of good stock, mannered and bold for the fight over proper socialized behavior, yes, partying and letting it all out at times (times of victory, or just times of celebrating life); we do not condone any blase degradation of our values and our good morals. Instead, we have a chip on our shoulder to stand up and defend those slandered and those vast and differing spirits that reign in the air around us.

Each of us has decisions to make, and our God trusts those to us, in full knowledge there will be a judgment day, and judgment goes “all the way”. All the way to the core of the matter, all the way to banking all on one decision, one friend for starters, no smattering of gestures but one gesture, towards a Fellow or Gal and Savior who stood fast and tall in the vast question marks of life. Who roared with conviction, and labored with steadfast certainty, on display, inspiring and convicting, many who would only through season after season of struggling, come to know the Love and the Patience and the Inner Dedication now theirs.

So it is moot who worldly structures have dedicated; we will dwell by the Spirit in inner peace and companionship, in formative structures of obedience and dialog, in that heaven each of us can find simply in sharing time with others, or in personal time of prayer. All this with ears for the habitually abused and the one who, truth be told, might even have inspired some self doubt in those they met, or some unbridled affection; maybe this is the reason for the talking down and the cubby-holing.