Today, we get to a segment that puzzles me. It’s almost what
I would call a “spiritual oxymoron.” For you Ivy League grads, an oxymoron
refers to a figure of speech in which apparently contradictory terms appear in
conjunction (e.g. “faith unfaithful kept him falsely true”). I used one yesterday
in describing a long-departed friend as having a “simple and complex soul.” I
thought it described this person well, but who am I to say?
Back to the Galilean, he puzzles the hell out of me when he gives
us the passage recorded in Chapter Six, verses 25-34. Here he is, on the one
hand giving us a whole list of concerns in terms of: do, dare, or desist from. On
the other hand, he is saying, “Don’t worry about a thing.” Now a real hard-core
evangelist might not struggle with that. But, “Don’t worry, just hate anyone
who is different” may not work as a life-guide for most of us.
I understand the advice in not allowing worry to destroy our
lives. I do. I heard this week something about someone having a “panic attack.”
I worry that I might offend, but I place panic attacks in the same category as
so-called PTSD. That is to say the malady probably exists, but it is highly
over-diagnosed, over-publicized, over-sensationalized, over-used as an excuse
for bad behavior, and extremely, extremely rare. Enough said about that.
So, worry can be carried ridiculous extremes. On the other
hand, legitimate concerns can save lives, families, neighborhoods, and nations.
Had we exercised proper concerns, America might indeed find itself becoming
that “shining city on a hill” instead of whatever it is that we are becoming.
In fact, the Galilean himself has shared with me that we need to be more
concerned about what is happening. He didn’t elaborate, just said, “Ya’ll (he
is from Lower Galilee, you know) need to think about what ‘great’ really
means.”
Anyway, here’s my take on today's segment of The Sermon on the Mount. The speaker here faces what any
public speaker in history faced. That is the need to talk in terms that the
average listener can understand. When the “nail” of your message is faith, the
hammer of your message must not waiver with thoughts of “what about this or
what about that” or “have you considered this or have you considered that?” Those
questions are for philosophers and scientists, not messiahs. The question posed
on The Mount was a simple and complex one.
A point comes to mind. I worry that I’ve never read, in one
sitting, Alfred Lord Tennyson’s magnificent poem In Memoriam, the opus
he wrote in memory of his beloved friend Arthur Hallam. I received an “A” in a graduate-level
literature class at the U of A once, after I claimed I had. But that darned
thing is too long, obtuse, and crammed with meaning to digest all at once. Like the movie Lawrence of Arabia, I’ve probably absorbed it all in
small pieces. Some things are better done that way, like The Sermon
itself.
Back to In Memoriam, I particularly love two passages
in it. One is when Tennyson cautions the “touchy-feely” crowd against seeking
moral guidance from the animal kingdom with, “nature red in tooth and claw.”
The other, and more to the point here, is, “I must lose
myself in action lest I wither in despair.”
We can, therefore, take much from this portion of The
Sermon, even though we must actively use our heads. Whether we turn to
faith, statistics, history, or our own ability to persevere against all odds (here,
the history of our African-American brothers and sisters can provide a guide),
we can place worry in its proper place.
We must. We owe that much allegiance to a work that contains
one of the most beautiful passages ever recorded:
“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the
flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not
even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.”
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| Peace |
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