Spotted on church marquis:
Why do you need a voice
When you have a verse?
I turned this over and over in my mind on the way to the grocery store. Though I couldn't quite make heads or tails of the saying, the words themselves scared up images of women oppressed by their fundamentalist husbands (an abuse present in every religion's expression of extreme fundamentalism). It made me angry with the anger stirred up by trite marquis slogans, blasphemous books written in the name of Christianity (often about "how to be a godly wife"), and politicians who support latent abuses of the poor and claim to pray. It makes me angry, good people, because I am a Christian.
Last night I looked up the Episcopal Church on the internet. My mother, who is a spiritual director in an Episcopal Church in Maryland, had let me know earlier that day: "And in other news: Episcopal Church Given Up Anglican Global South for Lent." The American Church is hurtling head-first toward a break with the Anglican south.
Have you been following these sad things? (If you haven't, briefly--the tension revolves around the Episcopal Church of America deciding to appoint of a gay Bishop (Gene Robinson), the general appointments of gay Bishops and the blessing of same-sex unions. This issue sparked what more conservative Episcopalians view as a matter of the authority of Scripture; the global south, and in general the worldwide Anglican Church, condemns the American E. Church's actions and a schism is imminent.)
I looked at websites from both sides, and I was deeply grieved. Both arguments are clouded over with contempt for the other. A schism, though inevitable, is tragic and has raked up the worst in everybody. Everybody. I don't care where you stand or what you think of the issues. Humility, grace, compassion--seem to be lacking on both sides.
(And here's a little glimpse from history that does not answer questions but makes me cautious to believe there are any answers: for years in our country slavery was sanctioned by Christians. Slaves, obey your masters. It was in the Bible. It is a verse. And slavery was so ingrained into the very fabric of our society that it seems not one church in the South spoke out against slavery in any substantial way during these years and years of gross injustice. History has judged the church.)
What will history say about this latest schism? Oh, it made me want to be done. Done, done, done with church.
So I took my grief over the Church, and I took the marquis post, which by now I had internalized into memory, and laid it before Martin. What do you think this means? I asked him.
It means, he said, that you don't need special revelation from God (a voice) to know what to do. All you need is the lasting revelation (scripture) to tell you what to do.
Ah, I see. God does not reveal herself/himself in any way other than through the Bible. That's rather glum, I told him. (Forget dynamic relationship; forget the surprise of nature; forget sacred words in other books and in the mouths of people).
I don't believe it. Not for one moment.
Outside the world is covered in a trembling mist of rain. Drops hang and shine on the swelling buds of the tree outside my window. A bird with a bright yellow beak ruffles the water out of his feathers. In his beak he holds a long twig, which he drops in his anxious desire to sing. And so he is singing out there in the rain, beak wide open, throat trembling with sound. And then he is gone.
Voices, voices, everywhere! I hear the voice of God in the rushing of the creek waters; I hear the songs of God in the gentle pattering of the rain. I see the face of God in my daughter, who is sitting beside me, drawing.
There is great mystery in life. The words of Jesus, the parables he told in the mystical tradition of storytelling--these do not give tidy answers. Jesus' stories, the answers he gave to searching people, the strange things he said about himself and the many things he never said about himself--Jesus confirms mystery.
I have questions, questions, questions. At one time their answerlessness would have bothered me. But it doesn't anymore. Live into the questions, Rilke said. Last night, Martin said: the questions themselves are lifegiving. Yes!
Answers--firm, inflexible answers--these often do more harm than good. They often leave little room for grace. Their solidness excludes many. Questions? When I am willing to ask you a question, I am opening myself to you in a vulnerable way. I am humbling myself before you. I am leaving room for discussion, for childlike wonder and exploration. When I ask a question, and then I am silent, then I can listen. Then, and only in silence, can I hear with real ears. If I ask a question as a matter of form or correctness but have already decided what the answer is, I will not hear what you have to say. Your stories will be lost in the roar of my own voice. And our relationship will be damaged as a result.
The older I grow, the fewer answers I know. I am not afraid of the ambiguity. And in the midst of all these questions, I know a few things for certain, and those few things are enough.
I am convinced with every particle of my being of this: God loves us, loves this world, loves every human and animal and unfurling life that lives here on this good earth.
And I know, as I know and love my own children: God is present, in mysterious and astounding ways. God is present in the bird outside my window. God's voice is everywhere.
Often I fill myself with the clamor of other things--worry, criticism, meaningless and meaningful pursuits both. But occasionally I will listen, and I will hear, not in words, not in verses, but deep within my imagination, an imagination which gives me eyes to see what is truly real.
Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.
--Rainer Marie Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
