Here There Be Monsters--July 25, 2017
"You have heard, no doubt, of my earlier life in Judaism. I was violently persecuting the church of God was trying to destroy it. I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. But when God, who had set me apart from before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being, nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were already apostles before me, but I went away at once into Arabia, and afterwards I returned to Damascus." [Galatians 1:13-17]
You know, it is rarely the case that there are actual monsters "out there" in the world to be fought.
In fact, despite the persistent myth, early cartographers did not actually write "Here there be dragons" in regions of the world that had not been explored, even if they did decorate the seas in their map with fanciful creatures from their minds' eyes. The decorative monsters in the margins came from within their own imaginations and were projected to be "out there" in the unexplored waters of distant seas.
In fact, despite the persistent myth, early cartographers did not actually write "Here there be dragons" in regions of the world that had not been explored, even if they did decorate the seas in their map with fanciful creatures from their minds' eyes. The decorative monsters in the margins came from within their own imaginations and were projected to be "out there" in the unexplored waters of distant seas.
That is so often the truth of things: the monsters we think we see out there and all around us are so often really projections of the monsters inside us that we do not want to acknowledge are a part of us. It's like the old punch line from the Pogo comic strip: "We have met the enemy--and he is us."
Trouble is, there is this terrible fear inside us that doesn't want to own the worst inside us. We don't want to bear the responsibility for the worst in us, and on the flip side we have a way of always casting ourselves as the noble heroes--and unable to see our own failings, our own worst tendencies, our own sin. Nobody wants to face the truth of their own missing-the-mark, and so instead we all look for ways to do what the old mapmakers did--to imagine the monsters are outside ourselves (that is, in other people), instead of within us. That allows us to pass the buck, deflect responsibility, and avoid owning the consequences of our choices, words, and actions.
And, my goodness, that's easy. It takes no courage at all--not one whiff of bravery--to hype up fear in other people of scary things "out there" to distract people's attention from our own pet monstrosities. It takes no courage at all to throw our hands up and say, "I'm not taking responsibility for this! This isn't my problem!"
I think of that moment in the Gospels, for example, where the Roman governor Pontius Pilate symbolically washes his hands of Jesus' blood... but then allows the crowd and the religious so-and-sos to carry him off to execution. For a lot of my younger life, I think I assumed that Matthew the Gospel writer was trying his darnedest to let Pilate off the hook for Jesus' death--but more and more, I think the evangelist was showing what a sniveling coward Pilate was, with a spineless gesture that attempted to say, "I'm not going to own this man's death. I'm not taking responsibility for this." What a crock! Pilate is the one--the only one--with the political position to do something one way or another with a prisoner like this itinerant rabbi named Jesus of Nazareth. Not to do anything to stop his death is to do something--not to decide is to decide, and not to act, is still to act. Matthew the Gospel writer knows that full well--and so he gives us this pitiable and pathetic depiction of Pilate trying to dodge responsibility because he doesn't want to see what is monstrous inside him. It is always easier to try and make somebody else to be the monster--make it the religious leaders, make it the angry mob, make it Jesus himself, but never admit that he himself holds the monster inside.
Now, when it is someone in an official position of power--like, say, the cowardly weakling Pilate--who is trying (unconvincingly) and failing to plead, "I'm not going to own this...", maybe it's not difficult to recognize how pathetic a response that is. But then it begs the question, what else can we do? If all of us have these monstrous streaks inside of us--pieces inside our deepest selves that are capable of great hatred, great cowardice, great greed, or great indifference--and if all of us feel the temptation to project the monstrosities at others "out there" as though they and those people are the bad guys, rather than owning what is inside us... what is the hope for us? Or are we all just doomed to find our place in a long line of pathetic imperial pretenders like Pilate?
No. In a word, no. There is an alternative to projecting the monsters from inside ourselves out onto the uncharted seas around us. The alternative is to own even our worst selves--to own them without necessarily excusing or rewarding them, but to acknowledge what is inside us. That takes courage--but such courage is possible because of grace. The mercy of God allows us to own up to the worst things inside ourselves--the things we are not proud of and do not even want to admit are there--because the mercy of God speaks an unconditional love that encompasses even what is most broken, most flawed, most wicked in us. That's what made it possible for a violent man like Saul of Tarsus to say out loud all that he had done and been a part of, and not to blame it on someone else, project it onto some imagined straw man bad guy, or shrug it off with a cowardly, "I won't own this." Saul can say that he was violently persecuting the followers of Jesus, and he can admit to all that had been a part of his past, not because it didn't matter or wasn't important, but because he knew he had been met by the grace of God that loved him in the midst of his monstrosities. The solution was not to pretend he could pass the buck or deflect ownership of his worst choices, or imagine he could make it all go away by saying, "I won't take responsibility..." but rather to say, as grace gave Paul the courage to say, "This is a part of me. I bear responsibility, and I own this." There is no ridiculous washing-of-hands, a la Pontius Pilate; there is only the honest admission, "Yes, this is a part of my story. This is what I am responsible for. This is something I struggle with that is inside me." The deep assurance that Saul (Paul) was unconditionally loved by God made it possible for him to point a finger at his own heart and say, "Here there be monsters," and then to know he was loved all the while. Only then can we can dare to deal with the things inside ourselves we do not want to face or admit to.
For all the ways you and I are in the same situation, there is good news on this day. The relentless mercy of God seeks us out and embraces us in full awareness of all of our deepest hates, fears, and selfishness. God is not fooled, and God is not ignorant of what monstrosities I have allowed to live in my heart. But God's mercy allows us to bring them out of the shadows and out into the open, and from there, knowing we are beloved before we have done a thing about them, we can begin to let God work transformation within us.
Today, there will be the temptation to shrug off responsibility, as though just saying, "I won't own this..." can make it so. There will be the temptation to project what we see inside ourselves onto someone else. There will be the temptation to be ruled by fear.
But grace meets us--in fact, it seeks us out and if necessary knocks us off our high horse to meet us--and loves us into courage. And courage then lets us pull the string on the light bulb inside our hearts' darkest basement corners and see whatever is in there that we did not want to have to deal with. And with such grace-given courage, let us bring whatever we find there into the light.
Lord God, thank you for your love. Let us dare to trust that you love us already as we are, so that we can also own what is ours to own about ourselves that we had been ashamed of, afraid of, or unwilling to name.
No. In a word, no. There is an alternative to projecting the monsters from inside ourselves out onto the uncharted seas around us. The alternative is to own even our worst selves--to own them without necessarily excusing or rewarding them, but to acknowledge what is inside us. That takes courage--but such courage is possible because of grace. The mercy of God allows us to own up to the worst things inside ourselves--the things we are not proud of and do not even want to admit are there--because the mercy of God speaks an unconditional love that encompasses even what is most broken, most flawed, most wicked in us. That's what made it possible for a violent man like Saul of Tarsus to say out loud all that he had done and been a part of, and not to blame it on someone else, project it onto some imagined straw man bad guy, or shrug it off with a cowardly, "I won't own this." Saul can say that he was violently persecuting the followers of Jesus, and he can admit to all that had been a part of his past, not because it didn't matter or wasn't important, but because he knew he had been met by the grace of God that loved him in the midst of his monstrosities. The solution was not to pretend he could pass the buck or deflect ownership of his worst choices, or imagine he could make it all go away by saying, "I won't take responsibility..." but rather to say, as grace gave Paul the courage to say, "This is a part of me. I bear responsibility, and I own this." There is no ridiculous washing-of-hands, a la Pontius Pilate; there is only the honest admission, "Yes, this is a part of my story. This is what I am responsible for. This is something I struggle with that is inside me." The deep assurance that Saul (Paul) was unconditionally loved by God made it possible for him to point a finger at his own heart and say, "Here there be monsters," and then to know he was loved all the while. Only then can we can dare to deal with the things inside ourselves we do not want to face or admit to.
For all the ways you and I are in the same situation, there is good news on this day. The relentless mercy of God seeks us out and embraces us in full awareness of all of our deepest hates, fears, and selfishness. God is not fooled, and God is not ignorant of what monstrosities I have allowed to live in my heart. But God's mercy allows us to bring them out of the shadows and out into the open, and from there, knowing we are beloved before we have done a thing about them, we can begin to let God work transformation within us.
Today, there will be the temptation to shrug off responsibility, as though just saying, "I won't own this..." can make it so. There will be the temptation to project what we see inside ourselves onto someone else. There will be the temptation to be ruled by fear.
But grace meets us--in fact, it seeks us out and if necessary knocks us off our high horse to meet us--and loves us into courage. And courage then lets us pull the string on the light bulb inside our hearts' darkest basement corners and see whatever is in there that we did not want to have to deal with. And with such grace-given courage, let us bring whatever we find there into the light.
Lord God, thank you for your love. Let us dare to trust that you love us already as we are, so that we can also own what is ours to own about ourselves that we had been ashamed of, afraid of, or unwilling to name.
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