Contemplative Conflict
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by Nancy Eggert
September 11th is in the news again. This time there is anger and conflict, investigations into "what did we know and when did we know it?" The national unity of eight months ago is replaced by contentious debate about homeland security. And absent are the comforting memorial services with bagpipe renditions of Amazing Grace and recitations of Psalm 23, "The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters. ... Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff-they comfort me." Gone is the collective openness to the Eternal Presence that never abandons us. No talk of hope beyond hope.It seems so natural to welcome the Abiding Presence in the midst of the green pastures, the mountaintops, the setting sun. Even as we are laid low by illness or devastated by the death of loved ones, so often we notice, at least in the remembering, the comforting presence of the One who took us by the hand and walked with us through those dark valleys. But why is it so difficult to recognize, much less welcome, God's loving presence in times of conflict and anger?
Anger and conflict are often surrounded by ambiguity and confusion. We may be unsure of ourselves--but camouflage our interior doubts and fears with the armor of arrogance or a protective fight or flight mechanism. The last thing we want to be is vulnerable and open! Maybe we learned early in life that anger is somehow wrong-even a kind of mental homicide. Do we secretly fear that we will lose control and injure or be injured? Or does our desire for escape from the discomfort stem from an over-whelming desire for peace--that settles for a false peace, a peace at any cost that is blind to injustice?
Sometimes conflict is the result of a necessary refusal of complicity to illusions, an indispensable consequence of bringing evil to light. How easy it is to dissemble about a situation, to deny the dysfunction, the injustice, the notrightness that is going on--especially if exposing the truth would threaten the surface peace and derail the status quo.
What would it be like to be prayerful--open to God's love and guidance, aware, vulnerable, surrendering control - in the midst of anger?
The Holy One is always present, even in the midst of anger and conflict. "Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast" (Psalm 139.7ff).
What would happen if we accepted the invitation to take the hand that is offered--in those uncomfortable and unpleasant times of conflict and anger? What if we refused the temptation to compart-mentalize our lives, refused to limit our openness and vulnerability to times of moral certainty? What would it be like to stand (perhaps only for a brief moment) radically attentive and exposed? Attentive and exposed to the terrifying depths of the situation, aware of our own frailties and misperceptions, as well as the longings and fears and failures of our neighbor. And open to action-even when we don't know the "whole truth"--action that is so often an undramatic muddling through, as we test approaches and receive new insights and feedback.
But what makes possible this open-eyes lucidity, the unprotected attentiveness, the vulnerability? Perhaps it is the lucidity about the transforming love that heals our wounded, messy places and the wounded, messy places of our neighbor. How do we claim and celebrate the light of possibility that grows from our darkness, the new life that comes from a death, the freedom that emerges from shattered illusions? Can we trust that the emptied cup-emptied of certainty and perfection--will be filled again, filled to overflowing with the fullness of life?
© 2008 The Shalem Institute.