2023-11-30 A Meditation on Strange Work
“23 By faith Moses, when he was born, was hidden for three months by his parents, because they saw that the child was beautiful, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict. 24 By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, 25 choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. 26 He considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward. 27 By faith he left Egypt, not being afraid of the anger of the king, for he endured as seeing him who is invisible. 28 By faith he kept the Passover and sprinkled the blood, so that the Destroyer of the firstborn might not touch them. 29 By faith the people crossed the Red Sea as on dry land, but the Egyptians, when they attempted to do the same, were drowned. 30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell down after they had been encircled for seven days. 31 By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had given a friendly welcome to the spies.” (Heb 11:23–31 ESV)
The strange, the sublime, the winsome calling to work in shadows and prefigurations of a future state, is a calling requiring insane tolerance for the cold, first of all, and for the Mandate, second of all, the mandate to hold out a pauper’s faith in the Unseen. In what lies around the corner, or perhaps whispers to us softly. It is to hold out a solemn self re-assessed as no longer in fault, no longer dismayed, no longer inadequate or unworthy.
Moreover, the strange, the sublime, is our cloth worn and insignia memorized: what others cannot see in us, we nonetheless see in ourselves, work in intelligence and in streamlining, seeking to bring home some manner of bacon, vis-a-vis genuine good hearts and minds behind the scenes who believe with a cynic’s sometimes calculation, in the Divine, in the Spiritual, in the Dreamscape and more than all these things, in the Individual republican ownership of his or her life’s choices, discovered friendships, honored parents, upheld teachers, secured bosses and capable leaders.
It is a cold and calculating era wherein tales of Man’s importance commingle with tales of his branding, serializing, assessed level of fitness for whatever prejudiced aims and goals seem to assure the pundits, to flatter their own self-reflection of what out of an entire educational enterprise and softly discovered joys and festivities, went into their own quality and upbringing. What “did the trick”? What made them different, yet insofar as they catalog and judge others, they judge themselves. For, rarely do they look honestly over themselves or ask what is the byproduct of the choices they have made. Sometimes, the Gospel requires yet a little more to be submitted, even after we had begun to ascend in mammon, in earthly accolades.
It is a cold and calculating era that we enter Consecrated and Spoken Over, blessed and given holy mandate. To fight unto our dying hour, never once being forlorn or reluctant. Never once being flatlined by those who have no hope. Yes, if we fear anything, as soldiers, as intelligence, as fighters, it is the lazy downtrodden lifestyles of the comfy and the depressed. They are indeed depressed, insofar as they know not some groundlevel footwork around our creed as written, as spoken, that God is for us, God is undisturbed by our antics, God has made His decision and will not back down, that we are His field officers and agents unto a spiritual Headship, a Crown, a strange trust fall into things not boring or too submitted, too weak, too cozy or too much borne in loserdom. We are not ambitious to submit. We are not proud to labor on God’s behalf. We are not unaware that behind the woman is a man, and behind the man is a woman. We are therefore turning daily grind, appearances of utter degradation, of the cold, of the neediness, into a Victory March. As those wise to the serpent and to the Joy, winning to the people before us as given, not as designed or wished upon, but as given. To the end that the calculating era shall break us out, wake us up, to a more distant dreamed-upon brand of submission, rather of Belovedness, His for us, His beloved intention towards our creaturely estate.
Therefore to the ramparts, and to the personal question: do I actually believe? Any of it, as stronger than my cynicism or comfort zone? It is a humanistic religion, borne in individual people howsoever regaled with halo and bright emanating lances of light. It is ours no longer to fantasize about a God whose image leads us to personal dishonesty: we are dishonest first to draw near when we should kneel in fear, and second not to draw near when we most have attained to the humility of spirit or genuine need. So the Son solved this, to a triple-millennial effect: put your faith in Me, and see life cradled, held, nurtured, in ways we either would formerly bluster about or try to rig up by ourselves. So, to the ramparts and to the strange fascinating world of hidden Motifs, poisonous snakes and darts and elixirs, frontline decision-making as thus entrusted to the field officer, to the soldier, who is in that hour summing up all her or his life choices, and experiences thus derived, unto the effect of good insight and field decisions. So we can enter the era of accounting and of measured assignments or simply of survival, bold to know zany and unmeasured Insight, Charism, Beauty, and Wisdom. We can inaugurate properly a Christian “scene”, assuring the cynics despite their gravity towards what is measured. Assuring the working class, regarding their power to assemble and voices heard. Assuring the leader, covetous at times when a trust fall is yet again called for, not to rely on what accolades or position in society has been obtained, but to say it is all the work of the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. Who cheers the unpaid laborer with a gladsome visage in the sky, up there somewhere, certain and trusting, leaving unanswered the appeals as to just why we are Chosen People. For it is a deeper appreciation held, a more humanistic one, a less calculating or cynical decision. It is a story that is timeless, and will be told as it has been up to this third millennium and onwards.
The cold, then, is an observation of the faithful ones, the allegations of thuggish solemnity is a false but common assessment: our cold experience is in no wise a dereliction of our warm sentiments. We are those most warm, in fact, as heard in the hymn or communal prayer time. We long, we hope, we dream, we have not lied about our own rig or genesis; we are plain to see, as proof in the pudding of a good work begun in Christ Jesus insofar as it is replicable and insofar as the common man on the street, or woman on the street, can thus begin to assure, to meet the pastoral need if they are thus called. All this, whilst they say, “Serpent!”, “Thug!”, “Craftiness!”, “Liar!”. If only they knew what our heart was riding upon, they would properly perhaps covet, or rather wish in holy fashion, for likewise to be assured. For likewise to be brought up in a New Faith. For likewise to be in a place of responsibility and trust. If only we would be modest about such ambition, and know when to aid the community by hearing our personal call. To repent, to honor the Trinity, to lead, to talk. Group-mind, group-think not all bad, and this one exorcizing the canker, exhuming the sore, flailing the limbs of warning or tantrum, fighting unapologetically under the Crown and Spiritual Headship who had a humanistic, loving disposition towards Man and towards Woman.
Our mission is ground zero. Our consecration is religious sphere. Our mandate is reform, finding the pluck and fight amidst those only trying not to rock the boat. Some have some experience of good things, good people, falling through the cracks. They trust no longer the organization, which organization as we speak is compromising on basic things of trust, sharing confessions heard or whispered rumors of cynical bent. No matter! What we are is plain for all to see, and nothing is hidden that shall not be made known! We are as it were the stronger for our tapped, intelligently assigned, labors unto loving and securing society. Because it is a rare day when a You or a Me is minted in the forges of rambunctious and poverty-stricken society. Our present day a unique backdrop, creation story, origins story, for the winning Resurrected loser. Who is preserved for a day longer, hidden behind scenes and incommunicado for ages with her or his spymaster. For these we pray, for the hidden gifts and sacrifices made. Knowing Jesus is in the crowd, in the social anonymity met with caring warmth, the “coming in from the cold” made promise and hope to each of us, yet in that hope we thrive in the present. We thrive, “out” and “honest” and “plain as day” for all those who want to offload their own mild times of waking onto a worldly storyline.
Our storyline is in heaven, and our alertness has finally understood the sleepwalk, the dream hour rearranging and compromising with the waking hour. Negotiations between the prophetic and the mundane. Shared astonishment that yes there is some morself of religion that we actually do believe in, and do allow to inspire our actions: that God has forgiven us, that God is for us, that God is divine storyteller who wakes up the sadly sleepwalking or sinner. Much shall be overturned. Many shall be lost who once were in positions of leadership. Yet the timeless gifts of humility, of sharing, or listening, of prayer, these shall win a future war still unseen, around the invisible corner. We know not but that God has saved us with a timely Friend, who is to us like Jesus. A timely placement and situation, because all Life is understood, nothing ashamed of, in His courts and Decision-Making.