Look Up

I had just moved to Chicago and was rumbling through the Loop on the “L,” eager to explore my newly conquered realm, ready to make it my own. Chicago like most metropolises is iconic, and it is easy to feel as if one has entered a movie. An epic soundtrack began to play in my head as I descended from the train a hero. I quickly realized, however that those around me were living a script that they themselves did not write. Rushed and hurried, well-dressed and homeless, I envied the seeming simplicity of their outward lives at the same time that I pitied them. I continued through the crowds and began to wonder to myself, “am I the lead, or simply another extra?” The soles of my shoes scraped against the sidewalk as I broke the rhythm of constant busyness, and I felt very small. Chicago’s famed skyscrapers stared down at me directing the circus below with money, power, and anonymity, and I sensed how easy it would be to become lost in this world and to live for what those around me were chasing …but then I looked up and saw a great crucifix carved into the façade soaring before me. The stone image of Christ, sinews rippling with strength and pain, at once a part of the city and wholly separate, was calling me from the anonymity of the city and towards something greater, but not away from my brothers and sisters flowing around me. Like the crucifix of St. Peter’s in the Loop, God is embedded in the world and in our lives but we so easily miss His presence.

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, life becomes a race with no clear finish line. This transition is so sudden that, oftentimes, by the time one stops to evaluate his life, he has sprinted so far down the most obvious course that turning back or even veering to the right or left is too horrifying to consider. Fear numbs us to hope, and life becomes a journey of desperation. I would suggest that the solution to this sense of desperation lies in simply being open to the presence of God.

As human beings, we first begin to understand ourselves in relation to our surroundings. Our experience of the natural world has convinced us of our superiority, and modern science has only strengthened this conviction. Advancements in technology and the study of our own evolution have set us apart from the world, and rather than striving to live peacefully in creation, we struggle to solve it. Modern man, crowned by his ingenuity, looks down on the Earth, and from this vantage point, there is rarely room for God.

However, Matthew 6:25-34, read with a sincere heart, questions this confidence in humanity:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat (or drink), or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span? Why are you anxious about clothes? Learn from the way the wild flowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith? So do not worry and say, “What are we to eat?” or “What are we to drink?” or “What are we to wear?” All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom (of God) and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.¹

Humanity distinguishes itself from the rest of creation by self-perceived resourcefulness, and the ability to solve problems. Our gifts and talents are remarkable, but plants and animals problem solve in their own way. These characteristics describe us, but they fail to address the great questions that lie within us, which keep us up at night. Perhaps what makes man unique is not any superiority, but his anxiousness over whom he is and how he should live. Do we dare look at the birds of the sky or the lilies of the field? Do we really live our life as if there was more to it than food or clothing, more than stocks and bonds? Humankind has learned to soar through the clouds next to the birds, but would we not trade all of the marvels of our technology to fly with them and leave our worries on the ground below? Throughout human existence we have carried our worries with us, and the ruins deteriorating across the globe, all of our pyramids and temples have done nothing to lighten them. Under our human burdens, it is easy to feel lost, like I did that day in Chicago, but Matthew’s message of hope tempts us to have faith in God.

Julia Marchemain struggles to accept faith in Evelyn Waugh’s novel, Brideshead Revisited. Stretched between her Catholic upbringing and her chosen life that has led her from it, Julia yearns for the gift of faith, if not for herself, for her child:

Do you know last year, when I thought I was going to have a child, I’d decided to have it brought up Catholic? I hadn’t thought about religion before; I haven’t since; but just at that time, when I was waiting for the birth, I thought, “that’s one thing I can give her. It doesn’t seem to have done me much good, but my child shall have it.” It was odd, wanting to give something one had lost oneself.²

Even though she has not been able to embrace God at every moment, she knows, she senses, she understands the human need for Him, the human emptiness that only He fills. More than simply Catholicism or religion, faith is the gift she wants for her child, yet she seems to struggle with stepping towards God, neither controlling nor understanding the source of her desire. In this passage, Waugh illustrates the crucial complication of faith: in order to choose faith, we must also accept gift of faith. We cannot build and maintain faith through human actions, as we would an automobile. Faith is not to be fixed. At some point, we must step back and recognize God’s workings in our lives.

At twenty-four, my young life is harder than I ever imagined. I wake up every morning with the desire for something more than the worries and anxieties of daily life. But on days like this today, when I sob in my neighborhood coffee shop doubting what I have written on these pages, somehow through the tears, I can see God’s hand clearly in my life. Such moments are the gift of faith that gives me the courage to actively choose faith and seek the Kingdom of God. I cannot convince the reader to have faith in a god he does not know, but like St. Matthew, I wish to tempt you to do what I did that day in Chicago. When you feel lost in this world, pause and look up.

1 New American Bible. 1991.

2 Evelyn Waugh. Brideshead Revisited. Every Man’s Library. New York: Knopf, 1993. 233.

The Corporate Ladder

With only two people in my company, it would seem that I am forever doomed to the position of lackey. My boss, a 25 year veteran of the construction industry, will always cause my own experience in the field to look like child's play. Nevertheless, although there is only one person above me, there is a way for me to move up in standing: encourage my boss to contract out to other companies.

When my boss does this, for example on a big job where there is too much for us to do on our own, two things happen. On the one hand, my own slowness and inexperience become all the more obvious, as other veterans fly around doing perfect work. On the other, I become the number two guy on the project, becoming the go-to guy when Harold is off the site. The result is of course ridiculous. A veteran will approach me and ask, for example, if its OK if he knocks out a support on a wall so that he can do some other work. I have no idea, so I say "I really dont know." When the person misinterprets this as a request for more information, he'll say "I just want to get that board out of the way so I can do the work. Can I take it out?" And I will say "I really dont know. But Harold will be back any minute." The guy is confused and wanders off to do something else.

But other times I come out looking OK. For example, when the owner of the house told me that we left spaces between the roof trusses in order to fit in some dormers, then when the crane operator asks why there are spaces, I say, "That's where the trusses go." And if he says "Are you just framing the walls off the block?", I am doomed again.

Not too long ago Harold left the job site, and when I had finished my work, I took it upon myself to go around and let everyone know I was leaving. This seemed like a simple enough thing to do, even if it wasnt necessary. But even then I found myself overetended when I asked the heating and cooling guys if they were coming back the next week. They told me that they would be there for the next week and a few after that. Since I had no idea what they were doing, I just let it go at that. "Alright, I'm taking off."

But redemption came last week when I was loading some piles of broken brick into a trailer, and the head mason noticed my work. Seeing the trailer full to overflowing, he asked "Did you load all them brick?" and I said that I did. He made an appreciative face and nodded his approval. And I went off feeling great about myself. Too bad the trailer had already been full when I started putting the broken pieces on top. But hey - for once, I knew more than the veterans. Good thing he didnt ask me any more questions...

Silence

Silence deserves to be pondered. In one manner or another, it is our most constant companion. Sometimes it is welcomed, and sometimes it is shooed away. Often we seek it, creating a space, a temple, where silence seeks refuge. Other times we arm ourselves with instruments made to combat it. Silence haunts us; it is always possible, but we do not always know what to do with it.

My neighborhood is urban, quiet, and probably well-to-do. I just moved here, and so we are just now becoming acquainted, my neighborhood and I. This evening, the calm cool night invited me to go for a walk. I explained my intention to the members of my intentional community and slipped out the back door. As my heels lazily grazed the wooden deck steps, I left my house, and I entered my neighborhood. I hoped to be alone, but I expected to be disturbed by the noises of a city: the clicking of passing cycles, and the growl of automobiles out for a late-night joy ride. I was not expecting however, to find silence. It seemed to come from the trees, whose still leaves, glimmered in the artificial light of the street. As I looked up into the boughs above me, silence engulfed my thoughts focusing them intensely inward. The exterior world seemed to melt away, and I was alone, within myself. Silence gave me clarity. None of the problems circulating through my thoughts were solved, but by helping me acknowledge them intensely and personally, silence lightened my burden. I prayed for peacefulness, and before the words left my tongue, a cool warmth wrapped itself around me. I returned home smiling to myself.

Silence scares because it forces awareness. And the silence that comes from those with whom we are in relationship is especially scary because it forces an awareness of what cannot be known. They say nothing, and we want to assume what they may be thinking. Silence rips the bandage from our deepest insecurities, and leaves us wondering if we are truly respected and accepted. The difficulty being that we can never answer this wondering on our own; instead, we must wait for the other to break the silence. Silence filters the noise that distracts, and provides moments of possibility.

Tonight, as I walked into silence, I was running from it. I was running from the silence that hurts and belittles, the silence of enthusiastic ideas falling on deaf ears and mute lips. I left my house understanding silence to be a weapon, and I returned having been healed by it.

The Things Id Otherwise Forget

The air outside today was surprisingly cool. Its the kind of air that surprises you, comes up out of nowhere and makes you wish that you weren't working so hard. I was walking through the front yard of a big house today when it hit me - "The summer's gone" it said.

Of course its only for today. Tomorrow the heat will be back with a vengence. In the home remodeling business, which I've worked in for the last two years, the weather is always a factor. We work outside from March to January, from 100 degrees to 20, and sometimes through a light rain, sometimes even though a heavy rain. Once, having just finished painted the trim around the windows outside of a house, a rain storm came up out of nowhere. My boss and I stood holding plywood over a couple windows, watching as the light green paint started streaking down the tan siding, standing there until it decided to stop eight minutes later. It was easy enough to wipe off the siding afterward, but our windows needed a little touching up.

You never know when a rain shower is going to come out of light gray clouds. You also never know when blogs are going to start pouring forth from the mind of a writer. This blog is the first blush of a writing career I've always wanted to develop. Im hopeful that as I get going, it will develop into something as temperate as the weather in May and as bold as the man outside in January. Actually, Im only one of two writers, Micah Johnston being the other, who will be writing on this blog. And so, a word of welcome and an explanation. When Micah and I were in college, we had one rule - never rule anything out. That one binding law is the common starting point for this effort. And so without further ado, I leave you to decide how seriously we take that rule and what difference it makes, as I bring you "Don't Rule It Out."

-B