H,
It has been a minute. I would like to say that I was busy doing
something grand or worthwhile, but everything can seem like that if we want it
to. Most of the time, I fear, I am just engaged in the rat race. I am just trying
to leave some indelible mark on sand near an ocean. I am the captain of futility,
and the major of despair.
I have always said I hate the feeling of living on earth, the glare of
the sun, the hopelessness of the darkest spots and the effort it takes to not
go mad as we roll boulders up slanted mountains. I have this lie I tell myself,
and like the best lies there is some truth there, about being a pilgrim upon
the earth. My version of events, however, is more about giving up than remembering
the face of heaven.
I am always trying to remember to stay awake and not slide into the rhythm
of things. In this season of lent, a lot of stories about Jesus are in the
ether for me. I am reading through Mark, somewhat haphazardly. You encounter
this active Jesus, living and breathing and doing good. There is not a hint of
conformity or compromise in him. I think of this a lot. Is this the model we
are following? We know the end of the story. Why do we act like we are making
it up as we go along?
It comes down to this: we go on and on about how the perfect metaphor
for living as the world is being a rat on a wheel. We run and the wheel spins,
but we do not go anywhere. We say the rats have to stop being on the wheel. We then
say there is a rat race going on and we must not be part of it. We say we do
not want any part of the wheel or the race. But we then we go out and act like
rats on a wheel in a pointless race. We say no to the rat race and then whisper:
“let us be rats.” To be accepted, understood, ‘loved’ and celebrated, we make
the ultimate compromise. We act like the things we are re-made to end. We must
learn to disconnect. We must learn to not be rats.
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