Theological Musings
by C. Grey Austin, Ph.D.
Installment X -- January 1993
How do we get through the day, through life, with some sense that it's
worth it? How can those everyday activities -- work, casual conversation,
coping with traffic, worrying about the domestic situation or an international
crisis, dealing with a sales clerk, helping the kids with whatever they need,
watching TV, eating a meal -- be called living abundantly? Where is the
zest, the spark, the meaning? What can I do to make it better?
This is a control issue. To what extent can I choose or change the events
that happen in and to my life? Not much. There are some choices that I
can make, and my actions based on those choices will have consequences.
If I can find the courage, I can change the things that are within my power
to change. But these are few; life is too complex for any one person to
make a great difference. So what about the things I cannot change? I need
to find a way to avoid being a victim of them?
Is the answer to "let go and let God?" Well, yes, if that means accepting
the things that are going to happen anyway. But, no, not if by that we mean
that God will step in and change the events that we cannot change -- perhaps
to our benefit. For me, it seems better to simply say that there is serenity
in letting go of that which we cannot control.
Another way to try to control events is to pray for that which we want to
happen. Then if we don't get what we asked for, we don't blame God. Rather,
we say that God knew better than we did what the answer to the prayer should
be. Isn't this just another way of recognizing, though not really accepting,
that life is as it is, that what is going to happen is going to happen?
This seems to be a way of trying to tell ourselves that we have a degree
of control, i.e., we may be able to influence God. It is a way of letting
go, but not really.
A few years ago when our granddaughter was about five years old, she and
I were driving down Indianola Avenue and she said, "Look Grandpa, there's
my school." I said, "Yes, Katie, and it's also a church, isn't it?" (Her
pre-school was housed in it.) She said, "No, Grandpa, it's my school! Grandpa,
everything is just as it is!"
Can I make any difference then, beyond those few things that I can change?
Yes, because even though I may not be able to change an event, I can affect
its significance for my life. I can view an event as a disaster or as an
opportunity to learn. I can see what happens as grace, a gift for me. I
can even understand that earthquakes, though deadly for some humans, are
necessary adjustments in the geological base upon which we depend for life.
When I can't change events, I can change my response to them. I can change
me. I can determine, with my response, from my perspective, whether life,
at that moment, is secular or sacred; I determine its degree of spirituality.
Sometimes we assume that there is a plan for our lives, that someone, somewhere,
knows what that plan is and sends us signals. And we say, "You must have
come into my life for a reason," or "God sent that adversity so that I would
...," or "I wonder why this book came to my attention just when I needed
it most for my journey." Jung called that synchronicity. I don't believe
that there is a plan for my life, but there are clearly some paths that lead
to or permit expression of the real authentic me, and some that do not.
If I pay attention to the clues that I can pick up about life as it is, then
I can find ways to respond that will help me live in harmony with the way
the universe works. I can apprehend those clues in dreams, in my intuitive
response to life around me, in identifying synchronous happenings, and in
searching the wisdom of the Great Ones of all cultures.
Living in harmony means going with the flow, but not, as I understand Eastern
thought, by adopting a passive stance, by doing nothing. It is a form of
discipline, exemplified, perhaps, by the well-trained athlete who is so skilled
that he or she receives maximal results from what appears to be minimal effort.
The good athlete enters a state of body-awareness in which the right movement
happens by itself, without an effort of the will. The dancer becomes the
dance; the poet becomes the poem.
If I "live as if loving is the only thing that matters," then I will have
some effect on events that happen in my life and the lives of others. The
larger effect may be on the quality of my own life. To live within an aura
of love is to see all that exists as significant to me, and me as significant
to all. My life can be lived in a state of inclusivity that rejects no one,
that invites rather than rejects those who are not me. I will see that what
happens to others is happening to me. And I will want to make what difference
I can.
That, I think, is a better definition of prayer. Rather than asking God
for what I perceive as response to a need, I would live a life of cosmic
connectedness -- interrelated to God in all things -- participating in unconditional
love to the greatest extent that I can, to the extent that love doesn't have
to be an act of conscious will.
If I sense my connection, through creation and evolution, to all of life,
from its very beginning and into its long future, then I will act toward
the environment as though I were it and it were me, which it is when all
reality is seen as a unity.
Is this just advice to look at the world through rose-colored glasses, an
exercise in optimism? Is it a way of glossing over the flaws, of being blind
to evil, of ignoring pain?
We answer those questions by testing the consequences, don't we. What difference
does it make to live in accord with the paragraphs above? What happens in
my growth toward health and wholeness? Are the lives of any others affected
in a positive way? Is society better in any noticeable way?
(As I write, I am listening to Louis Armstrong singing "What A Wonderful
World." Affirmations help to make it so.)
"This is a day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."
This is an important affirmation that I would amend to say, "This is a day
that the Lord and I make..." (ascribing to the Lord credit or blame for all
facets of the day that I cannot make or remake). I believe in co-creation;
I accept that responsibility.
I grew up in the Methodist Youth Fellowship (MYF) and attended camps and
conferences where we would go out at dusk (a mysterious time) and hold an
outdoor worship service on a hilltop, and watch the fire, or candles, or
stars as the day ended. It was a magic time, a time we identified as spiritual,
and we referred to it as a mountaintop experience. Because that was my view
of spirituality -- meeting God in a special place of worship and among others
who shared the experience, or maybe privately in my own place set aside for
prayer and meditation -- I have been slow to come to the realization that
spirituality is in every experience of grace. It is in the quality of those
everyday happenings which we find to be grace-full, where the God in us meets
the God of grace. The life of the spirit is lived as we chop wood and carry
water.
As I think about beliefs that have consequences, I find myself asking these
questions:
Is my faith inclusive? Does it honor all people,
however different their beliefs or practices? Or does it draw boundaries
that include and exclude? Is it a "both/and" rather than an "either/or,"
"we/they" religion?
Is God found within us? Can we see all humans as having a divine spark,
a Christ within? If we fail to see God in each human being, how much more
likely are we to limit our actions to our own self-interest? And if we
honor the God within, how much more likely are we to actualize who we are,
to become our real selves?
Is God understood as integral with all reality? John Bradshaw suggests
that we do such damage to the environment because we see God as separate,
as other, rather than, with Native Americans, as a spirit within the natural
world. The environment is not likely to be preserved by people who believe
that they have been given dominion over the earth and its creatures. It
is preserved by those who know that to desecrate the earth is to inflict
violence on the Great Spirit.
Is discovering and being "me" -- the most authentic and complete ME that
I can be -- a higher value than any right belief or right action?
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(Copyright 1997 by C. Grey Austin, all rights reserved.)