One quality that I like about myself is my comfort with knowing that there are lots of things that I don’t know. I mean I know lots of stuff (I do daily crosswords – in ink), but there is a universe of stuff I don’t know. I don’t mind that I don’t know.
There will always be things that don’t make sense to me; like why bad things happen to good people – it’s one of life’s big questions. It’s not just that I am at peace with the fact that I don’t have answers to life’s big questions. I love that I don’t have answers. Not only does it take gobs of pressure off my shoulder, not knowing is akin to wonder and awe. Much of my faith beliefs fall into the category of wonder and awe. I can’t explain the virgin birth and Trinity, for instance, and I don’t feel that I need to either.
Faith is sort of a mystical experience that is unlike anything else we can encounter. If I am truly seeking to live a Gospel life, it includes a realization of my own nothingness in contrast to God’s immensity.
I’m a spiritual junkie. It’s what keeps me sticking around organized religion at large, and Catholicism in particular. Despite all my gripes and my healthy skepticism, Catholic works. The sacraments, the music, the sacred writings, the smells and bells (as some say) are fertile ground for me.
One of my favorite scripture verses is Job 1:21: “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.” On the face of it, these words seem to be trying to provide an explanation for Job’s troubles. The Lord bestowed great blessing on Job, and then took it all away.
Instead of interpreting verse 1:21 as “God has a plan,” I hear, “Good stuff happens. Bad stuff happens. That’s life.”
There’s an old Chinese parable about a farmer and his fate that our dad loved to tell. In the story, the horse the farmer relies on to plow his fields runs away, and the man’s friends comment on the farmer’s bad fortune. Unbothered, the farmer replies, “Bad luck, good luck, who knows?” When the horse returns with two wild horses, and the friends exclaim at the farmer’s good luck, the farmer once again replies, “Bad luck, good luck, who knows?” The cycle repeats throughout the tale: The farmer’s friends are quick to tout the farmer’s life as good fortune until something negative occurs, and they reverse their judgment. Throughout, the farmer remains constant: “Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”
The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Who knows?
Job 1:21 puts me in the mindset embodied by this farmer and helps me accept that easy and hard, exciting and boring, smooth and jarring, planned and unplanned are all parts of the human experience. It pertains to the day-to-day, hour-to-hour happenings that make up the bulk of our years.
It’s easy to take setbacks and inconveniences personally, to feel indignant when the struggles of life outweigh the delights. But hardship isn’t personal, and mistaking it as so is a sure path to unhappy – not a place I like visiting. Good things just happen. Bad things just happen. However, the sun still shines and my puppy jumping up on my lap still delights.
This understanding helps me stay unbothered by all the inconveniences of life as it provides me with a grounded way of looking at the world without bitterness. When things are easy, we can be grateful, and when they aren’t, we can know that nothing lasts forever.
For me to feel a connection with the deeper reality that is both beyond and within me, I need this framework that emphasizes that life contains both good and bad, that supports acceptance and gratitude in all the things, and that embraces the here and now.
For decades, I have relied on the phrase: keep it in perspective. I need to save my energy for the “big” things that come my way. I am remembered that a lump in my oatmeal and a lump in my throat and a lump in my breast are NOT the same. Good things just happen. Bad things just happen.
With God’s help, we can accept all our joys and the challenges with grace.