Reflecting on Order and Quiet and Knowing God

Certainly the inscrutable nature of God is real. As well as His simplicity. And it seems, maybe, the order of a monastery, at least in the ideal, is an effort to arrange our real human lives as simply and plainly and orderly as possible so the seeking of the transcendent, necessarily inscrutable nature of God does not completely ruin us.

The contrast between us and God is off the charts. Is this why we are to live quietly and go about our business, why the east has this beautiful doctrine of apophaticism -- "We know what is not true of God but positive assertions we handle with great care -- all but complete silence?"

Perhaps this is why the ordering of quietness opens the door to awareness of God. Quietness, when even a naturally is a simple discipline that gives room for the (to us) impossibly infinite God to be known in some small measure. And to know God in the smallest of ways is larger than a life. Busy-ness wars against such a thing, though certainly diligence does not, for it is the same kind of ordering I am searching to understand.

Chesterton: The Great Shipwreck as Analogy

This is one of Chesterton's masterpiece essays, published May 11, 1912 in the Illustrated London News. I'm glad he could do so well in a moment when the best reflection was necessary.

Excerpt: Some hundreds of men are, in the exact and literal sense of the proverb, between the devil and the deep sea. It is their business, if they can make up their minds to it, to accept the deep sea and resist the devil. What does Miss Pankhurst suppose a "rule" could do to them in such extremities? Does she think the captain would fine every man sixpence who expressed a preference for his life? Has it occurred to her that a hundredth part of the ship's population could have thrown the captain and all the authorities into the sea?

The tragedy of the great shipwreck is too terrific for any analogies of mere fancy. But the analogy which springs to the mind between the great modern ship and our great modern society that sent it forth--this analogy is not a fancy. It is a fact; a fact perhaps too large and plain for the eyes easily to take in. Our whole civilization is indeed very like the TITANIC; alike in its power and its impotence, it security and its insecurity. Technically considered, the sufficiency of the precautions are a matter for technical inquiry. But psychologically considered, there can be no doubt that such vast elaboration and system induce a frame of mind which is inefficient rather than efficient. Quite apart from the question of whether anyone was to blame, the big outstanding fact remains: that there was no sort of sane proportion between the provision for luxury and levity, and the extent of the provision for need and desperation. The scheme did far too much for prosperity and far too little for distress--just like the modern State. Mr. Veneering, it will be remembered, in his electoral address, "instituted a new and striking comparison between the State and a ship"; the comparison, if not new, is becoming a little too striking. By the time you have made your ship as big as a commonwealth it does become very like a ship--rather like a sinking ship.

For there is a real connection between such catastrophes and a certain frame of mind which refuses to expect them. A rough man going about the sea in a small boat may make every other kind of mistake: he may obey superstitions; he may take too much rum; he may get drunk; he may get drowned. But, cautious or reckless, drunk or sober, he cannot forget that he is in a boat and that a boat is as dangerous a beast as a wild horse. The very lines of the boat have the swift poetry of peril; the very carriage and gestures of the boat are those of a thing assailed. But if you make your boat so large that it does not even look like a boat, but like a sort of watering-place, it must, by the deepest habit of human nature, induce a less vigilant attitude of the mind. 

An aristocrat on board ship who travels with a garage for his motor almost feels as if he were travelling with the trees of his park. People living in open-air cafes sprinkled with liqueurs and ices get as far from the thought of any revolt of the elements as they are from that of an earthquake under the Hotel Cecil. The mental process is quite illogical, but it is quite inevitable. Of course, both sailors and passengers are intellectually aware that motors at sea are often less useful than life-boats, and that ices are no antidote to icebergs. But man is not only governed by what he thinks but by what he chooses to think about; and the sights that sink into us day by day colour our minds with every tint between insolence and terror. This is one of the worst evils in that extreme separation of social classes which marks the modern ship--and State.

But whether or no our unhappy fellow-creatures on the TITANIC suffered more than

Sylvia Pankhurst

they need from this unreality of original outlook, they cannot have had less instinct of actuality than we have who are left alive on land: and now that they are dead they are much more real than we. They have known what papers and politicians never know--of what man is really made, and what manner of thing is our nature at its best and worst. It is this curious, cold, flimsy incapacity to conceive what a THING is like that appears in so many places, even in the comments on this astounding sorrow. It appears in the displeasing incident of Miss Sylvia Pankhurst, who, immediately after the disaster, seems to have hastened to assure the public that men must get no credit for giving the boats up to women, because it was the "rule" at sea. Whether this was a graceful thing for a gay spinster to say to eight hundred widows in the very hour of doom is not worth inquiry here, Like cannibalism, it is a matter of taste. 

But what chiefly astonishes me in the remark is the utter absence which it reveals of the rudiments of political thought. What does Miss Pankhurst imagine a "rule" is--a sort of basilisk? Some hundreds of men are, in the exact and literal sense of the proverb, between the devil and the deep sea. It is their business, if they can make up their minds to it, to accept the deep sea and resist the devil. What does Miss Pankhurst suppose a "rule" could do to them in such extremities? Does she think the captain would fine every man sixpence who expressed a preference for his life? Has it occurred to her that a hundredth part of the ship's population could have thrown the captain and all the authorities into the sea? 

But Miss Pankhurst's remark although imbecile, is informing. Now I see the abject and idolatrous way in which she uses the word "rule," I begin to understand the abject and idolatrous way in which she uses the word "vote." She cannot see that wills and not words control events. If ever she is in a fire or shipwreck with men below a certain standard of European morals, she will soon find out that the existence of a rule depends on whether people can be induced to obey it. And if she ever has a vote in the very low state of European politics, she will very soon find out that its importance depends on whether you can induce the man you vote for to obey his mandate or any of his promises. It is vain to rule if your subjects can and do disobey you. It is vain to vote if your delegates can and do disobey you.

But, indeed, a real rule can do without such exceptions as the Suffragettes; de minimis non curat lex. And if the word "rule" be used in the wider sense of an attempt to maintain a certain standard of private conduct out of respect for public opinion, we can only say that not only is this a real moral triumph, but it is, in our present condition, rather a surprising and reassuring one. It is exactly this corporate conscience that the modern State has dangerously neglected. There was probably more instinctive fraternity and sense of identical interests, I will say, not on an old skipper's vessel, but on an old pirate's, than there was between the emigrants, the aristocrats, the journalists, or the millionaires who set out to die together on the great ship. That they found in so cruel a way their brotherhood and the need of man for the respect of his neighbour, this is a dreadful fact, but certainly the reverse of a degrading one. 

The case of Mr. Stead, which I feel with rather special emotions, both of sympathy and difference, is very typical of the whole tragedy. Mr. Stead was far too great and brave a man to require any concealment of his exaggerations or his more unbalanced moods; his strength was in a flaming certainty, which one only weakens by calling sincerity, and a hunger and thirst for human sympathy. His excess, we may say, with real respect, was in the direction of megalomania; a childlike belief in big empires, big newspapers, big alliances--big ships. He toiled like a Titan for that Anglo-American combination of which the ship that has gone down may well be called the emblem. And at the last all these big things broke about him, and somewhat bigger things remained: a courage that was entirely individual; a kindness that was entirely universal. His death may well become a legend.

G. K. Chesterton

Why Don't We Confront?

Why don't we confront when errant ways we see?
Reasons rampant litter the path.
Who knows the motives, walked the path of erring friend?
It may not be error after all, sight being what it is.

But there's little knowing without asking.

No one wants the pained response, the indignation, the affront.
We grieve for others but leave be because it is hard to confront.

But at what cost?

We have all erred painfully in life. Why did no one speak up?
For me I know now I was headstrong, self-willed, 

preoccupied with my own way. 

No one wanted to tell me how wrong I was.

Do I have the love, especially with the young, to pray and wait
and then when it is right, sit down and listen? And then, maybe,

after listening long:

“Can you hear an alternate opinion?
I am concerned where this may lead.
I made a similar step when I was young:
here is what happened."

There is no substitute most of the time for relationship.
Most cannot hear well if they do no know you on some level.
But all are begging for clear direction. And caring.

Clear and caring is what they will thank you for.

And would-be confronters will mostly remain silent unless
they think it will be worth it.

It is the story of life. We don't listen, and those who could help,
won't. Why should they? 

Love is the only reason; love willing to bear the pain of rejection.




Help me, Lord.

Confessions

“Snide remarks do not become thee” --
('whispered' in my ear);
I know ‘the wound is more than kiss'
But this I could not bear.

“It feels so good to let it out,
to show how right I am!”
“And full of self,” came the reply,
“Your rightness is a sham.”

“When putting down the other one
to make the point you make;
You undercut pretended gain
and all for ego's sake.”

“What can I do?” I asked askance,
my lingua franca lost;
“Maybe silence – there's a start,
attending to the log

“within your eye that's overlooked,
so easily ignored;
The easy snark and cutting down
grows out of grievance stored.

“The 'healing' you so crassly give
With 'truth' 'neath ugly shroud,
Will ne'er be real until you know
your own heart is afoul,

“and let the Wounded Healer in
to heal your broken soul;
He needs no snide, but walks beside,
and makes the wounded whole.”

On Heritage, the Goodness of God, and Planting Seeds

The value of some encounters cannot be measured and we are blessed when we dare to believe the goodness of God is with us. I always remember this glad truth when I consider my beloved Kansas heritage and the little town of Miltonvale that looms large.

Last year I wrote about my Dad's coming to school at Miltonvale Wesleyan College and Academy, a spiritual anchor for several generations in my family, starting with my Great-great Grandfather Markey in 1908. It would be impossible to count the number of my relatives whose life was shaped by that place that many called “a prairie fortress for righteousness.”

On the Huff side my Dad's elder brother, Wayne, came to the Academy in 1957. As Uncle Wayne explained to me, Larry (my Dad) had stayed home in Emily, Minnesota to help his parents as there were four younger children still at home. My Dad, 3rd of 8, would have turned 18 that November and he was out of school so he could work full time with my Grandpa in the family business.

After Wayne finished the school year he came back to Minnesota and he and my Dad worked in Minneapolis for the summer in road construction as Minnesota was beginning the new Interstate highway system. I can feel the thrill of it in my bones: the time together, the long hard days, fending for themselves with camp stove or getting a burger at the diner, perhaps driving north to Emily late on Saturday and back again before Monday morning. Good days, sore muscles, long conversation, love — with the blessing of God near and promising.

Highway workers near Minneapolis, 1958.

Each August Wesleyan Methodist folks from Minnesota, Iowa, and South Dakota attended a camp in Charles City, Iowa. Uncle Wayne and my Dad decided to go down for weekend services. They drove the 180 miles or so and found lodging and meals and friendly people who loved God and loved them.

Representing MWC at this camp was one of the college teachers, Rev. Warren Freeborn. Wayne was happy to see him and more happy to introduce him to his brother Larry. Rev. Freeborn encouraged him to finish his schooling and this encounter changed the direction of my Dad's life, and mine in turn. In tears for all it meant, Dad decided to leave home and finish his High School at Miltonvale.

Rev. Warren S. Freeborn (1902-1978)

There were difficulties. My Dad worried about his folks getting along without him at home. The school had no lodging space ready for them and besides, the two young men had work obligations to fulfill, not least so they could pay their school bill. They explained this to the school and were allowed to come two weeks late. When they arrived they stayed for a few weeks with Aunt Eunice, my Grandpa Stacy's sister, while workmen refurbished an old basement room to serve as their dorm room.

That year was a good one, I am sure of it. As Uncle Wayne tells it, “We worked together, studied together, double dated together, and helped each other through!” They graduated that spring and were married two years later to gals they both met in that happy place – my Aunt Alice and my Mom, Glendah. In later years I often walked those grounds, ran up and down the old Abbott Hall where their dorm room had been, played ball in the old gym, even went to the old college snack shop.

But most of all I remember the spiritual impact of the place and the camp meeting on those same grounds that hosted a gathering each summer. It was life-changing because it brought one into touch with God. Eventually the choice my Dad made brought fruit in my own life, and I found myself letting go and finding God was able for me as well. I had my own set of hurdles, and my version of Miltonvale was 1500 miles away. But I have never been sorry, and will never stop being thankful for my precious Dad and Mom and the heritage of faith and goodness they passed to me by way of that humble place on the Kansas prairie.

Addendum:
There is a subtext to this, an important note I failed to emphasize. The influence of my Uncle Wayne was indispensable in this process. As an elder brother his word carried weight with my Dad and his encouragement helped make it all happen. It is an old truth of course -- we all stand on the shoulders of others. Everyone plays into our lives for good or ill, and in this way Uncle Wayne -- whose life has counted for good with countless people across the years -- planted seeds in my Dad that will grow forever in my life and with all whom I am able to love and serve. It is the truth of the old saying which I first heard, not incidentally, on that very Miltonvale Campground from a preacher in 1979:

"Anyone can count the number of seeds in an apple; only God can count the number of apples in a seed.”

Thank you, Uncle Wayne, for your life of faithful planting.

Uncle Wayne (far right) with me and my brothers at an event honoring my
late father in 2018. Always with us whenever he can, encouraging us upward.

The Mystery of Reciprocity

Reality should give us pause and make us hold our tongue,
For words are deadly boomerang and 'karma's' never done.
'The way you judge,' the Master said, 'the same will come in kind
into your teeth' and be assured the taste will not be fine.

So when the weapon's ready to release from angry heart;
Or when you see another one who fails to do his part;
Remember that the way we see has resonance within,
And hold your peace (lest you project) and then you truly win.

Of Laws and Life and Getting Along

“No one is above the law.”

We hear it often and we believe it. And yet we know, like all things in this world, it is an ideal with myriad mixed application and painful failings all about. It came to mind as my wife and I visited with a friend.

This new friend was a somewhat refugee, settled legally in an American state, staying in the home of friends. She has been there for two years. Her friend's HOA has strict rules about house guests. Two months maximum, no exceptions, no loopholes. The HOA president is popular, not least for her consistent application of the rules.

“No one is above the law.” There have been no exceptions, until now. The HOA president, if she even knows, doesn't care. And if anyone else cares, they don't say.

This means several things: personal freedom in one's housing decisions really matters, the spirit of the law matters more than the letter, and some things transcend the law, like mercy. I think our friend should be able to stay there as long as it is workable for all.

This is instructive, though HOA rules are tangential to our judicial system. Numberless factors always come to play in the courts, not all of them sinister. The worst violations are money and political power – unless of course it serves my ends – then I don't protest as much. As the ancient expression has it, “It all depends on whose ox is getting gored.”

I grieve over the litigious nature of our culture. Frivolous lawsuits, the mere threat of lawsuit, and “lawfare” plague our judicial system in ways that hinder it from ensuring justice for all. And yet there are factors at play we often overlook. Local matters, for example, are often decided with local concerns in mind, the strict idea of “no one is above the law” set aside. I saw this once in a rural community where a murderer received the leanest possible treatment due to the mitigating circumstances obvious to all who were there.

And yet one man's happy justice is another's broken scale, as we are seeing in spades today. The new President is doing things that, charitably considered, are merely reflections – perhaps correctives – of President Biden's misdeeds. One person's tit-for-tat is another's “at long last justice is done.” And we learn about it by means of variously construed media outlets which we trust or not, based on our own assumptions going in.

I think of two helpful reminders in this quagmire. One is to know various extra-legal factors affect the process of justice. How often have mere good looks swayed the opinion of all involved? Or what has a bad day for judge or attorney brought to bear? How often does sheer cleverness win the day when everyone looking on knows justice failed? Circumstances, particular venue, luck of the draw, some obscure point overlooked by court or prosecutor– they all come into play and we know pure justice was beyond reach once again.

The other thought comes to mind from the New Testament where Jesus speaks to how we handle ourselves in court. There is mystery to it, but Dallas Willard puts it helpfully. He says Jesus was after something like this: When you come to court be at peace with whatever the outcome will be and, moreso, be at peace with your opponent. Even be ready to greet him as you enter with a handshake and a greeting: “Well, I hope this works out for the best for all of us!”

Such an outlook might be ludicrous to an attorney but as Willard also says, we should take Jesus seriously enough to imagine he knew what he was talking about. Perhaps he was helping us know God is the final judge, life is short, it is likely we will not get total justice here, and we just as well be at peace with that. And maybe we love the other person – even our enemies – more than our own way.

I don't think this means for a minute that any person is above the law or that we must accept injustice as a matter of course. But it does mean, seems to me, that we remember we ourselves – the one looking back at us in the glass – are faulty. We judge poorly, and try as we might, we will get it wrong. We hope mercy will triumph over justice on our behalf. And in turn we learn to back off our insistence on what has become a legalism in new quarters: maligning and despising those who depart from whatever orthodoxy breathes the zeitgeist.

True enough, no one is above the law, except when they are. It is for us to do what we know is right, love our neighbor, even tell the HOA president to take a hike if we feel we must. And if she hauls us to court for it, well, maybe she is right. Let's try to work it out in the fear of God and pray the good prevails.

In time all will be made right, and I don't want to surrender to hate or fear along the way.