Tornadoes

When I was eleven years old or so, my dad took a job that required him to be away on business quite often.  Every time he left, he would grab my shoulder and say, ‘you are the man of the house now.’  Now to be fair to my dad, it was more a figure of speech, however, being the pubescent child that I was, nuance wasn’t really something I really understood.  I took the job quite seriously and I learned quickly that as an eleven year-old I was inept at running a household.  Due to the stress of misinterpreted responsibilities I developed a severe phobia to tornadoes (I think the popularity of that summer’s hit movie Twister probably didn’t help either).

The phobia was bad: I was afraid to go outside and play if the wind was blowing and if the clouds were looking black I would hide in my room.  Summers in the high desert of Arizona have especially volatile weather patterns, so I spent most nights trembling in terror.  My mom would sit me down with her bible and read from Jesus‘ sermon on the mount, ‘don’t worry about tomorrow, tomorrow has worry of it’s own.‘  But it wasn’t much use.  Eventually we moved out of the country and into the city, my dad changed jobs and the fears went away.

What was at the center of those fears is a lack of control.  My family wasn’t the same without my dad and I wanted him to be home more.  But nothing I could do could make that happen.  In my mind the tornado was the fixation of my fears.  It was something unexpected, dangerous and out of my control.  I dreaded the thought of cowering all night in the cellar and praying.  

I am finding that not much has changed.  I am afraid, I always have been.  Will I ever make it to seminary?  Will I ever pay off my student loans?  Is my car going to break down?  Am I ever going to be a husband or a father?  What happens if someone thinks I’m a fool or doesn’t respect me?  Certainly, my circumstances might change: I might make more money, meet a nice girl, be surrounded by a bunch of admirers, but like my dad coming home and my tornado phobia subsiding, these are just circumstances.

I have spent the past six months embracing solitude.  But after all of the prayer, fasting, and silence, I’m still struggling to take control.  I orchestrate circumstances so I don’t have to look at how vulnerable I actually am.  

I think we all respond differently to that feeling of vulnerability, if your like me it’s fear, for some it might be anger, for others it might be in emotionally checking out, for others it might be in stockpiling, and still for others it might be in self-medicating.  But when the dust settles or our heads poke out from the hole in the ground, that reality, that we can’t control the unpredictable, dangerous and wonderful universe, is still staring us in the face.

Jesus’ invitation into the Kingdom of God requires only that we trust in him.  Perhaps the way we receive this invitation is to not cover up or flee from our vulnerability but to embrace it, befriend it and be transformed by it.  Perhaps being saved requires us to bathe in this sorrow and anxiety no matter how uncomfortable or painful it might be.  I’m not certain what that looks like and if there is actually life on the other side (although that is the promise of the Gospel).  But I can testify that protecting myself from it only makes it go away temporarily, and when it comes back, it wants more of my soul.  

Come and see.

Shalom.    

Bibliography: 

Invitation to Love by Thomas Keating

A conversation with my friend Kyle that went like this:

Me: I just don’t everyone to think I’m a fool!

Kyle: But you are a fool, we all know that, and we still love you!