We are in the fall time of year, where the days get shorter and cooler, leaves begin to turn, and in some ways there is a sense that things slow down. Interestingly enough, there is still some excitement and growth even during this season. Vegetables are grown and flower beds exchange summer blooms with those plants that thrive more in the cooler temperatures. Football is in full swing as well. So, alongside the slowing down, there is also still excitement and growth, although perhaps tinged with different moods and paces.
For me, this time of year is characterized by inner reflection and taking stock so to speak of birth and death and the in-between-ness that is the bulk of our lives. The birthdays of my brother and grandmother, both deceased now, are in September. My mom’s death, burial and birthday fall within the span between late August and the very beginning of October. Autumn has decisively taken over as possibly my favorite season. And yet, even within this season, there is that interesting admixture of sometimes seemingly incongruent aspects. As much as things slow down, there is a mood of expectation and hope that springs forth from the slowing down of life. Exhaustion can at the same time still hold the seeds of expectation for something new or more, even though we may be less inclined to till the soil. This is fall time.
The book of Ecclesiastes (Eccl 3:1-11) speaks to the juxtaposition of life’s meanderings:
“There is an appointed time for everything,
and a time for every thing under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to tear down, and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them;
a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.”
I wonder if this passage is not only talking of the movement from one extreme to another (birth to death, weeping to laughing, mourning to dancing, etc.), but rather pointing up the experience of both extremes simultaneously. I know for me, the most precious and significant times in my life have been the combination of two seemingly disparate or even opposite experiences. For example, I can say that the loss of my loved ones has been the most grievous AND the most joyful experiences of my life. I cannot account for why this is the case, but I can attest to the fact that this has been my experience.
In the tremendous loss felt at such times, there have been simultaneously for me the most precious revelation of the most joyful and most sorrowful of experiences imaginable. It is as if the deepest sorrow reflects the most profound experience of joyous love. Inasmuch as grief can be ‘self-serving’ it can also, I have found, be an expression of love reaching deep down into the core of my being and revealing the great mystery of what it means to love and be loved. There is pain and there is joy. There is mourning and there is dancing. Together not separate. We tend to want to segregate these experiences from each other, but I am discovering that one cannot be had without the other. The time of the moment- each moment – when we allow ourselves to be present will involve both of the seeming opposites AND indeed include a mysterious MORE that escapes our ability to sometimes articulate.
In Luke’s gospel (Lk 9:18-22), we hear Jesus asking his disciples first, who do people say that I am, and then, who do you say that I am. Jesus is pointing the disciples away from a third party stance of reporting everyone else’s opinions about things (and Him) towards a focus on their own experience of Him in their lives. It is almost as if Jesus needs to hear from them, from those closest to him, how they ‘see’ him. I wonder if it came as a surprise to him, when Peter speaks up and replies, ‘the Christ of God.’ Jesus’ response was that ‘he rebuked them and directed them no tell this to anyone.’ Was he taken aback by Peter’s response? How would it feel to be called the ‘anointed of God?’
Then, we hear the ‘flip-side’ of what this anointing of the Christ ultimately means. Similar to the juxtapositions in Ecclesiastes, we hear Jesus explain to the disciples that ‘the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed and on the third day be raised.’ How scandalous this must have been for the disciples to hear. This Christ of God – the chosen, holy and anointed one – in being the anointed one will most definitely suffer unto death and arise on the other side of death transformed. Who would want that kind of anointing? An anointing that is both birth and death, weeping and laughter, mourning and dancing? Is this the very nature of love, given and received?
How many times are we convinced that diligence and virtue will ‘make’ us holy and even worthy? How does our culture (religious, moral, national, etc.) preach that the outcomes of our lives are determined by what we do and how well or poorly we do what we do? It’s a far-fetched idea to many if not most of us to consider the possibility that Life comes to us as it is, in all its seasons, asking not that we try to subdue and conquer it with private aspirations and agendas for success, but more so inviting us to receive and embrace it (Life) in all its chaotic meanderings. This invitation is not one of apathy or cynicism but rather one of openness and reception that attempts to hold the paradox of life in a way that has the capacity to transform us at a level deeper than we can even imagine. This could be the difference between rallying against a misfortune or choosing to allow the ‘otherness’ of the experience to teach us, or at least form a new question that is not necessarily formed out of a reaction.
You may ask if I am speaking about denying, avoiding or being indifferent in the face of the many oppressive forces that we find in our world today. I would answer to this, ‘no.’ Instead, the suggestion is that we entertain the possibility that the surface problems that we encounter in our lives are indicators of something that is misaligned at a deeper level, extending far beyond any one individual experience of discomfort, pain, etc. It’s a mysterious communal connection that we must ‘see’ and seek to heal as a whole – the whole body of Christ!
Going back to Ecclesiastes…”He has made everything appropriate to its time and has put the timeless into their hearts without man’s discovering from beginning to end, the work which God has done.”
Could it be that the appropriate time is precisely the moment when we can hold the craziness of our lives in a way that can anoint us – yes – MAKE us the Christ. Is this the ‘timeless’ within each of us that is in our hearts and that awaits us to realize and allow it surface in a transformative way – ‘the work which God has done?’ It’s not a question of ‘giving up’ or giving oneself over to an abusive, oppressive or unjust situation, but rather a way of leaning into Life – in whatever shape it takes – with an openness that is not contingent upon individual circumstances themselves. This is the timeless Christ that is the Season of God. It’s all seasons, all the time. Everyone!
Fall, though, does have a special place I believe. The ‘fall’ must come or we don’t go deeper, we only stay surface. It’s the baptismal plunge that must be taken in life that allows death to be, because death is the way to New Life – indeed the only way to More Life. And this is not only the death of our bodies at what we consider the ‘end’ of our lives that I am talking about here. It is the ongoing series of deaths that face us all throughout life, offering us with each ‘fall’ the possibility for more and more life. It’s a way of recognizing the Christ as the disciples did, but then taking it a step further, becoming Christ – embracing the fall only to rise again transformed – the timeless within time.
The 18th Century Jewish mystical rabbi, Baal Shem Tov, hints to the importance of the fall in his saying:
“Let me fall if I must fall. The one I am becoming will catch me.”
Christians would say that ‘the one I am becoming” WHO catches me is Christ. When we fall into life, i.e., when we die, it is only to become More of the One who catches us – the one that many would call Christ – the eternal Season of God!
Peace,
Thomas