Sitting or crying out

Do you think in terms of Sirach 34:16, The Lord is a shelter from the heat, a shade from the noonday sun, a guard against stumbling, a help against falling? I have always wondered about individuals for whom life goes forward without a hitch. People who can quote this verse because for them, the Lord has always sheltered them from harm, guarded them from stumbling, and kept them from falling.

I think most of us identify better with the blind man in Luke 18:35-43, who sat along side of the road not even able to watch life pass him by.  When he heard a commotion one sunny afternoon, he asked what was going on and was told Jesus was there. Hearing this, he sprang into action, calling out, "Son of David, have pity on me!" Those around him tried to shut him up. I suppose they were the ones for whom life had been straightforward, who had never needed to cry out, for whom the Lord was a shelter, a shade, a guard and help. But he would not keep quiet. And his reward was healing.

Come to think of it, I am not sure if there really are people for whom life is easy. I wonder if instead, there are those who cry out when they feel the need for help, and those who prefer to sit quietly by, not willing to appear vulnerable. For crying out does imply being needy, and that can be hard to admit. Yet, everything we read in scripture, both old and new, says that God listens when we cry out: my plans for you are peace and not disaster; when you call to me, I will listen to you (Jer. 29:14). Perhaps our destiny in life is not revealed until we cry out. Perhaps healing comes only with a willingness to be vulnerable.

Where our strengths lie

The longer I live, the more I'm amazed at the human tendency to anger. I am not speaking about the ability to become angry. I am referring to our tendency to carry anger around inside ourselves for injuries or injustices carried out many long years ago. One pin prick, one little rub the wrong way, and we erupt in a seething volcano.

Perhaps that is why Heather King's words in her book Redeemed struck me as very profound: I thought I'd be loved by being strong, by carrying my own weight, by not needing anything. I'd never understood we are loved by being vulnerable (p. 189). King is speaking of her own anger at a relationship gone awry. In her reflections, she realizes she too has some blame to carry. In her desire to appear strong, she became isolated.

Being vulnerable is important, not because it has the power to soothe our own angry souls (it doesn't), but because it keeps us aware of our real fragility.  We read in Phil. 4:13 I can do all things in him who strengthens me. I think sometimes when I am doing all things, I risk forgetting my fragility. It is even easier when you have been on the spiritual journey for a long time, and have come to believe that you are stronger than you really are.

Perhaps we should keep in mind another verse from Philippians: Though he was God, he did not deem equality with God something to grasp at; instead, he emptied himself, taking on the human in all things, becoming humble, even unto death. Being vulnerable does not diminish us; it is rather a fact of life. When we understand this, we remember where our strengths lie.

Ashes on my forehead...

It is good to see you vulnerable the person said.  It was a passing statement I overheard. The person addressed appeared very strong. But for one moment, she let her wall down, and allowed her vulnerability to be seen. The sight of that vulnerability only endeared her to the rest of us.

It got me thinking. In a way, lent is like that. Lent is about letting that wall of protection down and allowing my vulnerability to be seen. It isn't a show. For I am vulnerable, as are you, and you, and you. It is part and parcel of the human condition.

God knows how hard it is for us to accept our vulnerability. For to be vulnerable is to be hurt, to be wounded, and to possibly be destroyed. To let us know it is not the worst thing that can happen to us, God came down to earth, to be vulnerable like us.

It is a reminder that suffering, weakness, pain need not be the conquerors.  No, we are better than that, stronger than that, more resilient than that. But we forget.

So today, if you receive ashes on your forehead, let the words sink in. "Dust thou art, to dust thou wilt return" is not a death sentence. It is a reminder that we have something in common, something we all share. 

For when we remember our vulnerability, when we let it be seen, we are reminding ourselves that we are family, no one is in this alone, that we all share in this journey forward. Vulnerability unites us by reminding us we need one another, that pain has a way of bringing out the best in us, if only we can use it for good. Vulnerability is honesty. And honestly is authenticity.