To Hold Lightly
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by Nancy Eggert
I didn't remember "Mike," but he remembered me. He remembered the prayer exercise I had led. He remembered the rhythmic and prayerful breathing that took us into the silence. Something about it had changed his life, and now so many years later, Mike was about to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of his ordination.It was a lovely and unexpected phone call; sincere and kindly words. But as for me, I hardly remembered Mike or that moment that meant so much to him. I know that Mike's experience wasn't about me. I had, in truth, only been assisting a dear friend who had presented the retreat. Even so, his comments felt like an unanticipated gift--I had not been aware of doing anything special that day, but now I held Mike's praise as if it were a beautiful stone revealed by the receding tide, a gem to hold gently in my palm and turn in the light. A gift--not to be clutched as my own, but to be enjoyed and then tossed back into the surf, released to the gracious goodness that had generously revealed it.
;The aftermath of our actions (I hesitate to call them results) are not so easy to hold lightly or receive graciously in other circumstances-when the stakes are high, when our ego is involved. And how hard it is to hold the aftermath of our actions lightly when something goes awry. Did you meet the budget? No? Why not? Was the program a success? No? Well, how did that happen???
The impulse is to justify ourselves, to protect our ego, to wrestle the outcome into submission-submission to our will. We can cling to our failures as tightly as we can cling to our successes. We can become so attached to an outcome that it becomes an idol, something which compels us, co-opts us, and dissipates our sense of God's presence.
I wonder if this inability to hold gently the aftermath of our actions is the source of so much resistance to planning, to looking at the future. Is there another way to pose the usual accountability questions, Did we meet our goals? Did we do what we said we were going to do? Did you do what you thought was important 12 months ago? Might there be another way, a way that does not so easily ensnare the ego, a way that leads us into God's presence?
We spend a lot of time listening at Shalem, intending to be totally present to God, to one another, to the depths of a situation. Perhaps an accountability question that beckons us into God's gracious presence is, Where are we now? We listen to the depths, being receptive and vulnerable to the precious but unanticipated gem of the present moment resting gently in our palm. And then, with open hands and surrendered wills, ask, What is called for now, at this moment, in this place?
Our concern here is radical freedom, total detachment. Sure (as Bonhoeffer says in his Ethics), we must observe and weigh-up before we decide and act, giving proper accord to people, circumstances, and principles. But we act out of our own most personal freedom-our detachment from rewards and principles, opinions, preferences and ideas, secure in our knowledge that we are already God's beloved sons and daughters in whom the Holy One, the Lord of History is well pleased.
I am reminded of my sister and her patterned response to her young boys tangling with each other in the back of the car on family outings. Their mantra was, He started it. No, he started it. My sister's mantra was, We are not here to assess blame, we're here to have a good time.
The same is true for us today as we stand faithfully in the present moment. We are not here to assess blame-or to award brownie points. We are not here to be a success. We are here to respond freely, gratefully, and sacrificially. But how do we create a good climate for discerning the future-a future without limits, without attachment to results? How can our stance be one of open-handed trust in God, rather than concern over bottom-lines, upper-limits, or one mayor's constant watchword.
How'm I doing?
I like Mike's response: gratitude. A thankful outlook seems like a good way to hold lightly both what we have done and what we have failed to do. Thanks, Mike!
© 2008 The Shalem Institute.