Eating My Tail

I want to revisit the second topic of consternation from my last post. Cynicism. Truth be known, I'm starting to realize that much of my exploration into the cynical side of me somehow flows out of just that, my cynicism, rather than a pure conscience. Such a pietic, prideful bias on things not only feeds the sometimes necessary yet often unnecessary critique of life and worship, but also the desire to pick and scratch and brush at the very base attitudes from which such observations spring. It's like that Asian iconic image of a serpentine dragon cast in a circle, eating its own tail, a perfectly destructive cycle.

I am beginning to recognize that there is little that my critique, alone, can accomplish, especially regarding my own worship life or the mission and purpose of the Church. The frustrating thing about all this is that critique is pretty much all I can give these days, especially since I am still jobless. But even if I was serving on a church staff somewhere, I doubt I would have much more to offer than simply criticism. I often find it hard to move past recognizing what should be done, and actually doing what should be done. I think most of us do. What is more, those that can find a way past words and into action often do so stumbling, their efforts misguided by their resolve. One of the most extreme examples is Communism, which is the tragically misguided result of what might have very originally been a good-hearted seed of critique.

Thomas Merton writes - struggles - with this concept in the pages of his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain. He is lost somewhere between wanting to enact a change, and figuring out just how to do it. And in that hazy middle are the listless people that do nothing, and the zealous people who do everything ... wrong.

I have been accused of being quite cynical at times when I am not trying to be. (Sometimes I am merely trying to be funny, as was the case yesterday in church when, following the service, I tried to joke with my friend that the frivolous tune "Mercy is Falling" sounds silly rather than worshipful when the entire congregation sings the meaningless words "Hey-Oh" several times during the chorus. "You might as well replace 'Hey-Oh' with 'Boo-Yah!'," I remarked, getting few laughs but several mildly-offended expressions.) Other times I have spoken quite cynically and illicited no response. And there are the few and far between times when I have made a judgment, whether spoken graciously or not, and received an agreement that carried the conversation deeper. However, in all three scenarios, I can later lament that nothing significant - certainly no change - was achieved.

There is only one thing I continue to return to (and sadly, I continually reject) that seems the only thing worthwhile to effect change in both the sad state of things as well as my cynicism. Perhaps the reason I reject it so often is because it seems so intangible. So syrupy. So Care Bear-ish.

Love.

The love of one person that beckons his or her neighbors into a deeper relationship, and, inevitably, a change. The love of a boy for his girlfriend. The love of a parent for his or her son or daughter. The love of God that transforms us all.

It seems invariably true that cynicism pervades more of me than I realize. It is not limited to my worship life and my thoughts and feelings about the Church and ministry. I find my overgrown pride contaminating many things, often times in surprising, backdoor ways. My relationships with friends, parents, my girlfriend; it is even in my thoughts when I am in solitude. Like the dragon, I am indeed eating myself.

And then there is Scripture, and once again, this love, this glorious, sacramental concept of Love, seems the only cure.

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly Loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on Love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Colossians 3:12-14

The metaphor is simply that of dressing. Put on Love. It does not seem like doing so is initiating much action, but I am starting see that there is a difference between taking action and taking reaction. The latter can become more problematic than the original problem.

Put on Love. There really is not much more that can be said.

As a matter of fact, there isn't anything at all.