a surrender - 19

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness")

I was off the trail. And I was going to continue walking, on roads, from town to town. But it didn’t feel like I had made the decision, it wasn’t because I felt like I was ready. The frightening experience of the previous day had shaken any feelings of strength or confidence in my preparations. That morning when I awoke in a soft bed, the words of Psalm 116 immediately came to mind. In the Dominicans we had chanted the Psalms, and I had memorized this one:

I love the Lord
for he has heard
the cry of my appeal,
for he turned his ear
to me
on the day
that I called him.

They surrounded me,
the snares of death,
with the anguish
of the tomb;
they caught me,
sorrow and distress.
I called on the Lord’s name,
“O Lord my God,
deliver me!”

How gracious is the Lord,
and just.
Our God has compassion.
The Lord protects
the simple hearts;
I was helpless
so he saved me.

Turn back, my soul,
to your rest
for the Lord has been good.
He has kept
my soul from death,
my eyes from tears,
and my feet from stumbling.

I will walk
in the presence of the Lord
in the land of the living.

Those words would come back to me many times in the years that followed.

When I called my parents to tell them I was getting off the trail, I was glad that I was over a thousand miles away. I knew it was not going to be an easy conversation. Not because I was afraid of disappointing them, but because I was sure they would be very afraid for me. And I didn’t think I could explain what I was doing in a way that they would understand. If they had been standing there in front of me, crying, I don’t know if I could have gone through with it. But I didn’t have to see their faces when I tried to explain that I was going to continue walking and trust that God would protect me and provide what I needed along the way. There was a stunned silence. Then my father saying, “So… you’re gonna to be a bum?”

I knew they loved me. And I felt sure that, if God did protect me and provide for me, my parents would eventually accept and believe that. They were good souls. 

But I didn’t think I would find the same acceptance among most of the people I would meet on the road. After my days in the wilderness, I believed that God was with me. But it didn’t seem likely that most other people would see it the same way. Soon after, I came across this poem by Emily Dickinson:

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
‘Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,—
you’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

 

Continued...

a surrender - 18

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness") 

When I got to the road, I set up my tent and considered my situation. The weather was no better. It was three more miles to a small village, then maybe fifteen miles to Damascus after that. I needed to sleep. It was 2:30 pm. I decided to nap as long as I could, while I was still warm from walking. I managed to sleep about an hour and a half, then woke up shivering. Checked the weather: cold, windy, no break in the clouds. That settled it. I ate my supper and braced for a long walk. First get to the village, then decide what to do next; but I was getting off the trail right now. I quickly packed my things and started down the road. It was easy walking, downhill, and I immediately began to feel better. 

The village was small, farmy, and pretty. Little ponds ringed with cattails, and even a few Canadian geese. I came to a store about 6 pm. I talked to a local man, who was also mystified by the weather, and who claimed it had got down to 38 degrees at his place the night before. It wasn’t much warmer here, even though I had descended considerably. And there was no place to spend the night. So I took the final step. I grabbed a purse-sized bag with my journal and a few other necessities, stuffed some granola bars and an apple in the pockets of my coat, and dumped the rest. If I was going to walk on roads, through towns, I could travel much lighter. I gave my big backpack to some guys I saw in a nearby parking lot. And I set off for Damascus. 

The sky still threatened. I was worried it might rain, but the walk was nice and I was warm. I didn’t think I would make it to Damascus before 10:30 pm, and I doubted that I would be able to find a room, but in any case walking was better than sitting in the cold dark. I passed sheep, cows, and horses. A grade school softball game. A farmer cutting hay. Then, after four miles, a beat-up pickup stopped, though I hadn’t been asking for a ride. My savior was an old, round, grizzled man, with a dirty cap and a full mountain-man beard. He was half-drunk, I think. But he got me to Damascus by 8 pm, and by 9:30 I was showered and in bed at “The Maples” bed-and-breakfast.

I awoke the next morning to a flawless pale blue sky. The tempest was past. Then I walked downstairs, and bumped into Geezer and Half and Half, friends from the trail. An extravagant breakfast followed. It was like a dream. 

Continued...

a surrender - 17

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness")

By this time I had been on the trail for over a month. My body was feeling strong and I felt like I could handle myself in the woods, and I even felt more sure that somehow I would continue walking once I got off the trail. I just didn’t know how or when to take that step. 

With that on my mind, and exhausted from a long day of walking, I fell asleep early, though rain had started to fall hard on the tent. But I didn’t sleep long. With the rain an unexpected cold front moved in, and I awoke shivering at 1:30 am. Unable to get back to sleep, I sat up in the cold dark with all my clothes on, even my poncho wrapped around me, for four hours, waiting for the light. The wind blew drops of water from the trees and when I turned on my flashlight I could see my breath. Finally I said a prayer and stepped out. There was heavy fog, wind, and the temperature was in the low 40s. I ate and left quickly, hoping to escape the cold by descending (I was at 4000 feet). But the freak cold lasted all day. Cold, wind, fog, dripping trees, soggy ground. I had to walk to stay warm, being careful not to work up a sweat, because I quickly became cold each time I stopped and I needed my clothes dry for warmth. It was the coldest day since I had started on the trail. I wore three shirts, including my wool one, and long pants. All day I blew clouds of vapor. And this was June, in the South. Very strange.

I stumbled along for a few hours, feeling very fatigued but warmer. When I’d come down about 500 feet, it seemed a little warmer and I was so tired I felt I could hardly go on, so I lay down for a rest. I think I slept about thirty minutes. The cold woke me up, and I staggered to my feet and continued, somewhat refreshed by the nap. I don’t remember much of the walking after that. There were still about 25 miles to the next big town, Damascus. That would take me at least a day and a half. I had had little sleep, and the cold night ahead of me seemed threatening. I saw that I needed to sleep during the day, if I could, since the chill of night seemed impossible. I also thought of walking at night for warmth, but that didn’t seem wise in the dark woods on a narrow, winding trail marred by rocks and roots. I was getting nervous.

By lunch, the weather seemed even a little worse. The wind had increased and it felt colder. Still foggy. I made hot chocolate, which warmed me briefly. And I began to try to think of other options, other ways to get to Damascus. The distance seemed impossibly long, still almost 18 miles by trail. But there was a road in three and a half miles, where I had planned to camp that night. I considered leaving the trail early, even walking at night if necessary. I was very tired and this weather was serious. The easy, five-day, 50-mile “stroll” to Damascus that I planned had become the biggest challenge I had encountered so far. The rain of the previous weeks had been a minor inconvenience―this cold and exhaustion were threats.

Continued...

a surrender - 16

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three, "into the wilderness")

If I was actually going to follow that little idea lurking in the back of my mind, though, physical preparation wasn’t enough. I felt like I needed spiritual preparation too. I didn’t want to end up like Peter, sinking, in very deep water.

When Jesus reached out to Peter and caught him, he had called him “you of little faith.” I already knew that faith meant more than just believing something that I couldn’t see, something that couldn’t be proven. It meant more than just believing God existed. That was easy, and it cost nothing. It was like believing the Appalachian Trail was two thousand miles long, or believing that the shelters were located where the map said they were. That belief in itself wasn’t worth much of anything. But it started to mean something when you actually started climbing that first mountain, when you saw how far the woods stretched in every direction, when you started to feel truly alone. When your water was almost gone. Then it mattered if the next shelter was where the map said it was. Or if the next town was close enough for your food to last. Real faith was like that, I knew. Not just believing that God existed, but believing that God existed and was near and would catch me. And believing it enough to step out of the boat when Jesus said, “Come.” 

I thought about faith during those weeks in the wilderness. How much was “enough”? I was not a natural risk-taker. If I was going to step out of the boat, I wasn’t going to be doing it for thrills, and I definitely didn’t want to sink. But how would I know when I was ready? 

At the trail shelters there were log books. Hikers would write notes there, talking about what they had seen, or encouraging other hikers, or leaving a message for a friend a day or two behind them. The log books were usually pretty interesting reading. For some reason, I started writing some words of Jesus that I liked:

Whoever finds their life
will lose it
and whoever loses their life
for my sake
will find it.

I don’t know, it sounded deep and impressive and not too religious. Like a riddle for people to think about while they walked.

I often thought about that riddle myself. If I manage to find my life, I lose it. And to truly find my life, I have to lose it. Then I remembered that dark moment in the monastery garden, when I was waiting for the monks’ answer. When I suddenly realized it was an utterly lost cause, my life was in pieces, and there was nothing I could do. I was alone in the dark, broken and helpless. But in that terrible emptiness there was something powerful moving, coming for me, and I didn’t resist it, I let it take me. Not in despair, but in hope. I let it take me. And then suddenly I understood, I had the courage to return home and face prison. And then I was free. Looking back, I believed that I had been freed by the power of God. And that moment in the darkness, that surrender, had been a moment of faith.

That meant faith was not something I could get more of by trying harder.

Faith was a surrender.

Continued...

So, so long we walked

Then came my night of anguish

But the promise

lives

(previous years' Christmas haikus begin here)

a surrender - 15

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter three)

 

into the wilderness

At first, I didn’t tell anyone what I had in mind. I just told them that I was going on a long hike, for a month or so, on the Appalachian Trail. It sounded reasonable. A good way to clear my head after leaving the seminary, and lots of time to think about what to do next. But in the back of my mind there was an idea stirring, a tiny thought, that maybe after my long hike I could just keep going.

The Appalachian Trail runs for more than two thousand miles along the ridge of the Appalachian Mountains. I wasn’t planning to hike that far, though. I had found a monastery near the trail, about a six week walk from the southern end. When I got there I could take a retreat for a week or so. By then I might know what to do next. The trail mostly keeps to the wooded wilderness of the mountains, though it crosses roads occasionally, and there are large, three-sided shelters every fifteen miles or so. There are springs along the way to get water, though the water has to be purified to be safe to drink. The trail is clearly marked. And there are maps and guide books that provide all the necessary information for hikers, including the locations of towns not far from the trail, where food and supplies can be purchased. So I bought a map and guidebook, to go with my small tent and sleeping bag, large backpack and good hiking boots. I was well prepared.

That is, my pack was prepared; it took my body a while to get there. I enjoyed the quiet hours of walking in the woods. But my pack was too heavy and there was a lot of climbing and my knees grew sore. It was carrying the pack down the long switchbacks that was hardest on the knees. People walking long distance on the trail often went by nicknames, trail names. I chose “Monk’s Knees” because my knees felt like I had spent too many hours kneeling in prayer. Even though I wasn’t hiking during the busiest time of the year, I met people on the trail every day, and often walked for a few days with one or two of them before we lost each other. The shelters were usually crowded at night, so I avoided them. They often had mice in them as well. I slept in my little tent. For simplicity, I had planned to eat only cold food. But I was surprised how much cooler it was at the higher elevation. So, after several days struggling to get moving in the chilly mornings, I bought a tiny cooking apparatus that could boil one cup of water with a fuel cube. After that I had hot cocoa each morning at breakfast, or oatmeal, and sometimes soup for lunch. And eventually, the hours of walking didn’t wear me out as much. I felt my body growing stronger.

Continued...

a surrender - 14

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two, "the power of the people and the power of God")

All of these seemed to me good reasons for Jesus to avoid this kind of power. He seemed to be focused on clearly speaking the truth, not worrying about pleasing his supporters. And he wasn’t trying to get their money. So Jesus didn’t have wealth or political power, he didn’t have “the power of the people.” But he seemed to have power. He spoke with great wisdom and was known as an amazing healer, he had a powerful effect on people who met him, and religious and government leaders were afraid of him. It was becoming clear to me, though, that Jesus’ power was different. It didn’t seem to come from people. It came from God. His power didn’t require compromising the truth, it couldn’t be used for evil, and it was a power that didn’t corrupt. Or end.

I didn’t know if it was possible, but if I could be supported by this power, the power of God, rather than the power of a big organization, that’s what I wanted. But how would I find out? It probably wouldn’t be by becoming “part of something bigger than myself,” if the “something” was an organization built by people. That shift in my thinking probably contributed to the increasing disagreements and tensions that arose for me in the seminary. In the end, the choice was made for me. When my membership review came up, after two years in the seminary, I was told that it had been a close vote, but it had been decided that I would not be continuing my training with the Dominicans. I just “wasn’t fitting in.”

Then, in the days that followed, I recalled something. When I was first visiting the Dominicans, during one of the gatherings, someone had read the story of Jesus walking on the water. In that story, Peter, a follower of Jesus, asks if he can walk on the water too. Jesus tells him to come. So Peter steps out of the boat and begins to walk to Jesus. But then he sees the wind and the waves. Perhaps it hits him then, as he gets farther from the boat, that what he is trying to do is impossible. He starts to sink, and cries out. Then Jesus reaches out his hand and lifts Peter up. And he says to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

I remembered thinking at the time that there might be something important for me in that story. Crossing a lake in a boat is the normal way it’s done. The security of the boat is like the security of our organizations, that have been well-built and relied on by many people before us. But then Jesus appears. Walking on the water. At the time I thought, yes, that’s what I want. I want to walk on the water too.

I was too scared, though. So I got in the boat.

Now I found myself pushed out of the boat. And Jesus was still there. I still wanted to start walking like he did. I just didn’t know if it was possible.

Continued...

a surrender - 13

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two, "the power of the people and the power of God")

Studying in seminary and on my own, I became more and more convinced that Jesus avoided using “the power of the people.” Though he gained a popular following, large crowds gathering to listen to him, he did not try to lead a popular uprising against the oppressive religious and governmental structures of his time. Once, when a crowd seemed like it was going to try to make him king, Jesus left quickly. He did not try to raise a lot of money, and he charged nothing for his teaching and healing. He also refused to let his followers fight for him. All of this left Jesus poor and vulnerable, without economic or political or military power. Intentionally so, it seemed. He taught his followers to do the same. So I couldn’t help but wonder why Jesus would intentionally avoid the kind of power that it seems everyone else is always trying to get?

As I thought more about it, I became more aware of several weaknesses of “the power of the people.” In order to get many people to work together, there always seems to be a lot of bartering and deals and arguing among people, who have different ideas about how the power and money of the group should be used. I saw this most clearly among politicians, but also in other groups. Sometimes it led to helpful compromises, but it often seemed to lead to the goals and ideals of the group being compromised, confused, or abandoned. And the need for lots of money makes this even more challenging. Because, in addition to appeasing the members of the group, many financial donors also have to be appeased. People who lead big organizations, such as politicians and CEOs, have to be very careful about what they say, in order to avoid upsetting too many of their supporters. “The power of the people” comes from the support of the people. So leaders have to say what will please the people, if they want to keep their power. And what if the people are deceived? Then leaders with bad intentions can gain control over the organization. “The power of the people” can be used for evil as well as good. I began to wonder: Does this power even push people towards evil? I had often heard the well-known saying, “Power corrupts.” And there seemed to be plenty of examples of this in history and in the news. The more power people wielded, the more they seemed tempted to think that they were above other people, and even that they were above the law. Then there is the final weakness of this kind of power, the one revealed in the decay and eventual collapse of every organized group. “The power of the people” doesn’t seem to last. Throughout history, every nation, every corporation, every organization eventually weakened and fell apart, and all of their power disappeared.

Continued...

a surrender - 12

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two, "the power of the people and the power of God")

The large size of their organization felt intimidating, but I think a part of me felt that I needed it. Maybe as a kind of shelter from the demands of society. Like the walls around the monasteries. The large organization could provide security and ensure basic needs would be met, like health care. And it would provide a network of safe places where I would be welcomed and could perhaps teach. It seemed practical. A way of living more like Jesus that could possibly work in the modern world.

I think there’s something very comforting in being part of a large organization of people. It provides a sense of security. Maybe it’s instinctual, a deeply held feeling that we are safer when we’re part of a herd or clan. Very often this is true. We have also learned that people can accomplish great things when they work together, especially when lots and lots of people work together. This is seen in factories and offices, on construction sites and battlefields. It’s the basis for the power of governments and corporations. And it’s also the basis for the power of unions and organizations that protest against governments and corporations. “The power of the people” is the power of many people working together towards a common goal. That’s another comforting thing that an organization provides: a common goal, a common purpose. I remember a conversation with a young man in the Dominicans. He told me it felt good to him “to be part of something greater than myself.” An organization of people can offer that feeling, when everyone in the group believes that their purpose is a good one, and they are able to accomplish so much more working together than any of them could working alone. And it seems this feeling grows stronger as the group becomes larger. When many, many people all agree, their belief seems more convincing, more true. If so many people are all convinced, it seems more likely that they are right. Maybe this too is an instinctual response. Becoming “part of something” can even offer us a new identity. I can identify myself as a citizen or an employee, a team member or a fan, and be proud of being a part of an organization that I admire, “something greater than myself.” That group identity can also help guide our individual choices and actions. Organizations offer us all these things, so it’s not surprising that we encounter them everywhere, all the time, on all levels of society. Belief in “the power of the people” is strong all around us.

Perhaps that was part of the reason I joined the Dominicans. I also admired their ideals, and I liked how they are more democratic than many other similar religious communities. As it turned out, I didn’t last long with them, only a few years. But I did learn a lot.

Continued...

a surrender - 11

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter two)

 

the power of the people

and the power of God

 

My problem now was that I didn’t know what to do with my freedom. I moved to a larger city, where there were more people and more opportunities. Maybe an idea would come to me there. But months passed and I still couldn’t envision a practical way to live like I hoped to live, except in a sheltered religious community. So I looked around and found a religious community nearby, called the Dominicans.

The Dominicans began in the Middle Ages, and were similar to the Franciscans. They were not monks, they were not cloistered in monasteries, but they did share many of the beliefs and practices of the monastic tradition. They formed their communities at a time when many of the monasteries were powerful and wealthy, and out of touch with the common people. So the Dominicans, like the Franciscans, traveled among the people, teaching and serving in various ways. They were also strict about living a life of poverty. They asked for donations, but would not gather more than they needed for the current day. I liked that. In many ways, they seemed to me to live like Jesus lived with his followers.

The Dominican Order, however, grew and spread quickly, and soon they were no longer just poor servants of the people. They gained property and established a number of respected schools. And within forty years, their influence and power had grown so much that some of them served as judges during the terrible Spanish Inquisition. They certainly weren’t like that now, I knew. But the wealth and size of the organization still made me uneasy. Maybe though, I thought, if I joined them, I could be allowed to live like the early Dominicans did: poor, living on donations, walking from town to town to teach and help people. Like Jesus and his followers. The Dominicans didn’t usually live like that now, but it was part of their history and ideals, so I thought it might still be a possibility for me in their community.

Continued...