We are only days away from the horrific scene outside the Mandalay Bay casino in Las Vegas. Such sights as these, on larger or smaller scales, are becoming all too familiar here in our own land and worldwide. What is happening to us? Why would someone devise and execute a plan to kill as many people as possible? Even in asking the question we instinctively realize there is no answer that could calm the underlying anxiety and horror we feel in the face of such cold, murderous behavior. Within this appalling human carnage, what does a loving and merciful God want us to see, to hear, to pay attention to? I ask this question believing God is with us in this as in everything, accompanying us and leading us through the thicket of shock, confusion and grief. We seem awash in an ocean of hatred and fear, where senseless acts of violence happen daily. And God, the life force within us and within all things, looks lovingly into our eyes holding a mirror, asking us to look deeply into the dark corners of our own hearts for answers to questions that mystify, confuse and enrage us all. We see ourselves as lone individuals, isolated families, separate and sometimes marginalized communities rather than as a ‘people’, and the forces that benefit from our separateness fan the fires of ‘otherness’ and the flames of hatred and fear.
I recognize it in me when I find myself judging the words and viewpoints of those voicing the opposite side of an issue I feel strongly about. I see how an us-them dichotomy is affecting the way I look at others in the grocery store on the sidewalk—more now than ever before. As I was waiting to board a connecting flight from Denver to Portland last Monday that would be continuing on to Las Vegas, I wondered how many were affected by the tragedy that had happened the night before, how many were gun advocates, how many would still defend the shooter’s right to own an arsenal of weapons and ammunition capable of killing and maiming so many innocent people. And then I realized that all the people boarding the plane, all the injured and those who lost their lives—all were and are my brothers and sisters. The shooter was also my brother. What happened to him? What is this cancer?
When cells in the body mutate to the point that they no longer recognize they are interdependent parts of a larger whole they sometimes go rogue. Unable to see neighboring cells as part of themselves they relate to them as ‘enemies’ and begin attacking, consuming, destroying those around them. We call this ‘cancer.’ We call it a ‘disease’. It is a failure to recognize the ‘other’, the neighbor, as part of the self. Eventually the whole body becomes so disorganized it can no longer function as a unit, can no longer support life, and the whole system dies, taking the original cell with it. Our inability to recognize others as part of ourselves is ultimately suicidal.
We see this same horror played out in the parable of the vineyard. We’re told that “When the tenants saw the heir, they said to one another, ‘Here is the one who stands in the way of our having everything. The simple act of murder would solve that problem for us.’” The “simple act of murder” would get rid of the competition. It would allow them to satisfy their greed, put them in the privileged position of ownership, of power. The “simple act of murder” will enhance their individual lives, they think, while the vineyard itself suffers the consequences of division and bloodshed. In the end they lose the vineyard. Everything they wanted is lost—their security, connections, livelihood. The body in which they thrived is gone.
We are one people, one body, one global ecosystem. What we do to others we inevitably do to ourselves. The shooter’s suicide is a metaphor. In killing others we kill ourselves. In killing their honor, their reputation, in denigrating them, impugning their motives, dismissing their needs and experiences—we do the same to ourselves. God holds the mirror and invites us to see. The stones we reject within ourselves become the hidden building blocks and cornerstones of our lives and the life of our society. They fashion reality without our awareness. And so it is urgent we look in the mirror God holds before us. Instead of placing blame and projecting fear, let’s step back a little and recognize the work ahead of us has both an outer and an inner component.
On the outer level there is much to be done. We share responsibility for the laws enacted in our name, for the leaders we choose and the policies we follow. We must stand for what is true and honorable and face down the greed and power-hunger both in ourselves and in the neighbor who would forcefully trample the rights of others. We are cells of this great body and we are each called to integrity as well as to humility. That is the inner work. God’s mirror is there to assist with this challenging balance, for as we see our own motivations and imperfections clearly we are more able to navigate the fine line where the boundary of inner and outer meet.
Paul’s advice to the Philippians and to us provides a navigational tool. He tells us not to be anxious in the midst of hardship and adversity. The letter itself is written while he is in prison and, in fact, in danger of death. Yet he encourages joy and gratitude with the expectation of receiving God’s peace, a peace that surpasses understanding. As we muddle forward, bringing our many challenges into prayer, we do so with the conviction that God is with us. Paul is certain of this, passes that confidence on to the Philippians and to us. We aren’t alone here.
We can see God’s loving Divine Presence when we direct our thoughts toward what is admirable and decent in the world, what is honest and respectful, what is receptive and carries integrity. As we develop these qualities in ourselves the Spirit is there to assist and fine-tune our efforts. God stands guard over our thoughts, attitudes and motivations. Peace is the result. And it is that inner Divine peace, radiating from the heart of God’s people, that will ultimately transform the world.
Leave a Reply