I said something recently in a discussion, and I didn't know I felt so strongly about it until I said it, thought more about it afterwards, and concluded that, for once, I strongly agreed with myself! Here's what I said:
"If we are committed to following faithfully after Christ, do we follow One who leads us to the place of safety, or to the place of risk? Are we called to save our lives or lose them?"
The thought didn't arise just because I'm familiar with Bonhoeffer and his call to sacrifice as the norm of Christ-like living. And I don't think it's just my age, and me pushing against the inevitable limitations looking for excitement. But recently I've begun to be impatient with attitudes and dispositions that make a virtue out of erring on the side of caution. I like the phrase – "erring on the side of caution" – it sounds so sensible, so prudent, so responsible, so safe – and not a bit like Jesus. I like the phrase, not because I agree with it, but because it tells the uncomfortable truth. We err when our anxieties and uncertainties, our self-concern and preferred comfort zones, shape the style and habits of our discipleship, and etch deep neurological paths that become the default settings of "responsible living".
Whatever else following Jesus means, it can't mean a safe, comfortable, defensive life of controlled consequences and negotiable demands. The seed must die. Take up the cross and follow. The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. Greater love has no one than this… Whoever saves their life will lose it. These are some of the texts I offered in College prayers yesterday as I thought out loud about how far risk assessment is compatible with following faithfully after Christ. Going where He leads, living by His words, relying on His grace, believing that, no matter when or where or what, if He calls and we follow, He will always be there before us, ahead of us. But knowing too, that Jesus may take us where we don't want to go, which means faithful following may require us to go against all those well reasoned out inner defense mechanisms that make us want to stay put, or opt for the more prudent alternatives.
Which makes me wonder. What's the relationship between trust and risk? Between faithful following and business as usual in this quite comfortable life? I read alongside such thoughts a poem of Mary Oliver. It says something of what I'm trying to think, say, and yes, find ways to live.
West Wind #2
You are
young. So you know everything. You leap
into the boat and
begin rowing. But listen to me.
Without fanfare,
without embarrassment, without
any doubt, I talk
directly to your soul. Listen to me.
Lift the oars from
the water, let your arms rest, and
your heart, and
heart’s little intelligence, and listen to
me. There is
life without love. It is not worth a bent
penny, or a scuffed
shoe. It is not worth the body of a
dead dog nine days
unburied. When you hear, a mile
away and still out
of sight, the churn of the water
as it begins to
swirl and roil, fretting around the
sharp rocks – when
you hear that unmistakable
pounding – when you
feel the mist on your mouth
and sense ahead the
embattlement, the long falls
plunging and
steaming – then row, row for your life
toward it.
I can hear Jesus say something similar – "row for your life – toward it". Life without risk is life without love, because love, for God and for others, requires openness, vulnerability, self-expenditure, a willingness for the unknown, a radical valuing of the other, for Jesus' sake.
The poem can be found in Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Volume 2, (Beacon Press, 2007) ISBN 978-0807068878
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