The Heart of the Matter/The Matters of the Heart

“You keep carrying that anger, it’ll eat you up inside.” Don Henley

Each Lent, I remember a story I once read about two monks who went on a day-long silent retreat. The rules for such retreats were strict – no contact with anyone and absolute silence. They set off from the monastery and were not an hour away when they came across an old man trying to cross a swollen river. “Here, climb on my back,” said one monk without hesitation, and soon he was carrying the old man while his companion was fuming behind. Once on the other side, they continued on their way. When they finally returned to the monastery and could break their silence, the other monk let him have it. “I can’t believe what you did!” he said. “You not only spoke to the man, you also carried him across the river.” After a brief pause, the other monk looked at his friend and said, “That’s funny. I carried him across the river, but you’ve been carrying him all day long.”

The old men beside the river come in all shapes and sizes, and one of the healthiest things we can do spiritually is recognize the people, places, and things we’ve carried all day long:

·      A divorce (or any other kind of break up).

·      A friend in eight grade who deliberately did not invite you to a sleep-over.

·      A friend or relative who said something that hurt you deeply.

·      A person you look up to messed up.

·      A colleague who went behind your back. 

·      A boss who gave you a particularly critical review. 

·      A friend who took advantage of you.

·      A company that laid you off or fired you.

·      A parent (or child) who didn’t love you enough.

·      A God who could allow a loved one to suffer or die.

The list is endless and particular to the one doing the carrying. What’s universal is the damage such resentments do - not to the other person, but to one doing the carrying. In 12-step recovery circles, they have a saying that captures the danger of carrying resentments: “I’ll show you . . . I’ll kill me.”

This is the season to recognize who or what we’ve been carrying and putting them down so we can walk on free of such lethal burdens.

Wills

I have two friends named Will. Other than names, they have little in common. 

I met the first Will when I was very young, and he’s been my companion ever since. He’s lots of fun to be around, sometimes. He points at stuff and says, “go for it,” even when to do so would be foolish or dangerous. Nothing holds this Will back. He lives in, and sees only, the present moment. He’s fun, but exhausting. We’ve had many wonderful times together, but we’ve also gotten into more trouble than I’d like to admit. 

The other Will came into my life later. He was much quieter than the other Will, but there’s a strange appeal to his calm. He never demands my attention, and he’s content to wait for when, or if, I turn in his direction. He suggests crazy things, too, but unlike the other Will this one’s suggestions are never about getting, only giving. When I go along, I never regret it, nor get in trouble. Quite the opposite. He has the uncanny ability to lead me to places I don’t see. At first, I’m usually reluctant to follow and the other Will always stands off to the side waving his hands trying to get my attention, but looking back, I can see I’m better for it whenever I follow this Will.

There are those who say I should choose between the two, but I’m not sure I’m capable of that. Life would be less confusing, but I fear both are here to stay. Instead, I’m going to try and listen to them both, equally. That, I’m embarrassed to say, would be an improvement.

“Being a Christian is less about cautiously avoiding sin than about courageously and actively doing God’s will.” - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Mice (and other unpleasant things)

I don’t like mice. I know, that’s not very manly of me, but the list is far longer than that! Spending many years in old New England homes where mice are as predictable as black flies, I knew I needed to learn how to deal with seeing mice, dead or alive. For some reason, I thought it would help if I squinted my eyes when bending down to sweep a dead mouse into a dustpan.  Limiting my vision and not looking too closely at the corpse, I thought, made it possible to get close.

I was reminded of this strategy when I was doing my Lenten work. In a season that calls us to draw close to our character defects - those things that scare us or get in the way of our relationship with God and one another - it’s tempting to squint our eyes and not look too close.  Too often, we feel a partial view is preferable to one with eyes wide open.

·      Admitting overt lies is easier than looking close enough to see the ways we bend the truth to make us look better or others feel more comfortable. 

·      Going to church is easier than worshiping God is spirit and truth.

·      Opening our eyes to our visible unfaithfulness is easier than admitting the lust within our hearts.

·      Pledging allegiance to the flag is easier than looking at all the ways our democracy falls short.

·      Sending a check is easier than showing up.

·      Reading (or writing) a devotional is easier than living out one’s faith on a daily basis.

The ways to squint one’s eyes, spiritually, are many. When it comes to matters of the heart, it seems we’re well-practiced at squinting our eyes. Perhaps it’s time to learn how to open our eyes wide and look directly at things that scare us.