That Vast Loving Presence

[Note: Today’s guest blogger is Bob Baker. Bob has attended Spiritus Christi since 2015 with his wife, Elaine, and his daughter, Sophia, who is active in the youth group.  Bob is a Eucharistic Minister, and also a member of the Spiritus Men’s Group and the Spanish translation team.  He works at SUNY Brockport. Thank you Bob!]

Today’s readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 102: 2-3; 16-21; John 8:21-30

Here are some of the things that I have complained about recently:

• back pain
• bad decisions made by my supervisors at work
• the dentist having to stop in the middle of my root canal procedure because he didn’t have a necessary dental tool
• Rochester weather
• slow cashiers at Wegmans

This is just a small sample: a comprehensive list of my complaints would be much longer.

If you made it through today’s readings, you noticed that there is a lot of grumbling there, too:  The Israelites complain to God about their supervisor, Moses, because they are “worn out by the journey” through the wilderness.  They especially take issue with their meal plan, crying, “We are disgusted with this wretched food!”  

And in today’s Psalm, when David pleads, “O Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come to you,” God is not surprised since David regularly lodges complaints. 

In the gospel, the Pharisees whine about Jesus’ refusal to share their petty religious concerns, and Jesus gets a little testy with them.  Jesus and the Pharisees are always talking past each other—like a progressive Christian and a white Christian nationalist—because while they might use the same language, they are coming from completely different places.  The Pharisees are professional nitpickers: their job is to look for mistakes and failures in other people.  Jesus has no interest in this. 

In the passage from the book of Numbers, even God complains . . . about the Israelites’ complaints.  So he sends snakes.  Which distract the Israelites from the bad food by giving them something worse to gripe about.  And so it goes: complaining builds momentum. 

Did you notice that most of the complaints on my personal list are trivial?  They reveal my privilege.  In fact, complaining about trivial things is a pretty good definition of privilege.  If you don’t have a job, you can’t complain about your supervisor.  If you don’t have a car and there’s not a Wegmans in your neighborhood, you can’t wait in a line at one.  If you don’t have insurance, you probably can’t afford to visit a dentist.   

I am privileged because of my race, health, education, gender, and economic status.  But I still complain. 

Underlying most complaints and dissatisfaction is usually one of two things: attachment to desire, or fear. 

1) Attachment to desire
When I go to the grocery store, I like to get in and get out quickly. Bam! Get it done!  I’ve usually got something more fulfilling that I want to do afterwards.  Maybe it’s going for a run, having dinner with my family, or curling up on the couch with a book.  The quicker I get through the store, the more time I’ll have for fun.

At the store, I’m mentally not there because I’m living in the future.  I don’t see those around me—including the cashiers and other shoppers in line—as people.  I see them as obstacles standing between me and my fun. 

When I’m focused on my desire for something in the future, then I’m not fully present. 

The Buddha realized that much suffering in our lives occurs because of our wants and desires.  His solution was not to get rid of our desires, but to get rid of our attachment to our desires.  It’s the clinging, the desperate longing for something that I want, that leads to frustration and complaining when I don’t get it.  The beautifully subtle suggestion from Buddhism—at least the way I understand it from Western eyes— is to retain my desires and plans, but not stake my emotional well-being on them.  Anticipate and hope, but live in the moment and accept reality as it unfolds. 

2)  Fear
Mike Dertinger, a longtime Spiritus parishioner, once said to me, almost as if it were a mantra of his: “It’s all already all right.” 

Say that one out loud: “It’s all already all right.” 

As an English teacher, I love the sound of this, the alliteration.  And this phrase, said by Mike with such casual yet heartfelt assurance, suggested a different way of viewing my worries and anxieties.  It was an invitation to release them.  The startling word there is the already.  How can it already be all right, even before it happens?  Because God is here.  The wise pioneer of psychology, Carl Jung, carved these words over the door of his house: “Bidden or unbidden, God is present.”

I don’t think that Mike’s mantra means that all the stuff going on around me is all right, but that I can be all right with it, whatever the situation, because of God’s presence.  In a wonderful book titled Radical Acceptance, Tara Brach wrote, “It doesn’t matter what is happening.  What matters is how we are relating to our experience.”

We only have to look at the news to see people in unimaginably desperate situations.  How is it possible for someone in, say, Tehran or Kyiv to think that “it’s all already all right”? 

Victor Frankl spent almost three years in several of Adolf Hitler’s concentration camps.  His wife, parents, and brother all perished.  And yet, he concluded: “Everything can be taken from a person but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.” 

In the most threatening, inhuman circumstances, some people have chosen to focus on the needs of those around them.  Can I release my fears and desires in order to be fully present to the situation that I am in right now?  Can I be present not only to what I am experiencing but what the people around me are experiencing?  If so, then I can see them.  And be there for them, no matter what’s happening.  Some people do this when the bombs are falling, so maybe I can do it in the checkout line at Wegmans. 

Frustrated by the Pharisees’ habit of pestering him about who he is, Jesus says in today’s gospel: “The one who sent me is with me.  He has not left me alone.”  His awareness of God’s presence fortifies him from their attacks.  It frees him up to be present to the people around him, especially those who need him.  We see this throughout his ministry: In the crush of a crowd, he senses that a sick woman has touched the “fringe of his garment” seeking healing.  When Peter springs into action and lops off a servant’s ear to prevent Jesus’ arrest, Jesus calmly heals the man.  Can we be that attentive to those around us?  Can we be curious about people and deeply interested?

For me, the way towards this level of presence is to transcend my own fears and desires: not forget them or disown them, but hold onto them less tightly.  “Bidden or unbidden, God is present,” Jung said.  Yes, I think I want to escape my petty concerns and be part of that vast, loving presence that embraces humanity, that embraces all of life.