Soren Kierkegaard wrote of the blues calling it, “Despair,” and “the sickness unto death.” Despair can kill, but to never feel it, to not have experienced heart-wrenching pain is to not be alive. According to Kierkegaard, in our development from infancy to childhood and beyond, we begin to become aware of our existence, to notice that we are here. This awareness stirs in us a sense of awe, wonder, and amazement. During infancy, we become aware that we can intentionally move our fingers, toes, and cry and someone will come. We are alive and become aware of it. We are here and become aware that we are here.
Subtly, over time, we become aware of the limits of our being here, a toy breaks, a pet dies, perhaps we get sick, a friend or grandparent dies. Kierkegaard points out that this is the second part of our awareness, a second stage, where we become not only aware that we are here, we also start to realize that we will not always be here, aware that all which lives, dies.
Initially, there is denial. The temptation is to be special, to be spectacular, other than human. The devil tempted Jesus to try and be special, turn a stone to bread, throw yourself from the top of The Temple in the center of town for all to see, or take control of the world and fix it, be special, be significant, be something other than human, a superior human, better than others, other than mortal. Our existence, when fully attended, takes us to a place where we recognize the limits of life and the undeniable nature of death and can look beyond ourselves to the immortal. According to Kierkegaard, “(Despair) is the road we all have to take – over the Bridge of Sighs into eternity.”
If we want God to remove our challenges, to help us deny our weakness, our mortality, we will find God greatly disappointing as Robert Farrar Capon wrote that Jesus is like a lifeguard who sees a drowning girl. He swims out to her, drowns with her, then three days later comes out of the sea promising that everything, even the girl who drowned, is wonderful.
We want a lifeguard who always saves us, who prolongs our life, not one who helps us die to find new life. God is not a life preserver but a life giver. Our greatest problem with God is God’s contentment with our mortality, a reality that drives us to despair. According to Kierkegaard, experiencing despair is not a sin, living there is. Kierkegaard wrote,

Whether you are man or woman, rich or poor, dependent or free, happy or unhappy; whether you bore in your elevation the splendour of the crown or in humble obscurity only the toil and heat of the day; whether your name will be remembered for as long as the world lasts, and so will have been remembered as long as it lasted, or you are without a name and run namelessly with the numberless multitude; whether the glory that surrounded you surpassed all human description, or the severest and most ignominious human judgment was passed on you — eternity asks you and every one of these millions of millions, just one thing: whether you have lived in despair or not, whether so in despair that you did not know that you were in despair, or in such a way that you bore this sickness concealed deep inside you as your gnawing secret, under your heart like the fruit of a sinful love, or in such a way that, a terror to others, you raged in despair. If then, if you have lived in despair, then whatever else you won or lost, for you everything is lost, eternity does not acknowledge you, it never knew you, or, still more dreadful, it knows you as you are known, it manacles you to yourself in despair!

To live fully requires facing death, moving through our frailty with God’s strength. We fear death; God mocks it. We live trying to be everlasting in life without death, God offers us life beyond comprehension and understanding. We try to achieve immortality while God gives it freely through our mortality. We want to be free from dying while God wants to liberate us from the fear of dying. We have no power to give ourselves life beyond death any more than we gave ourselves life at birth. Birth was not an achievement but a process, so, too is death into life. Like birth, life in death comes as a gift from God. We do the dying; God does the resurrecting, not just in our final deaths, but our momentary ones, as we let go and look to God for the gift of the next moment, and the next, and the…

What we can learn from Herod…

When Herod met the Magi at the palace in Jerusalem, neither had met the infant Messiah. Both were experiencing their perceptions of who and what he might be. Herod is a vivid illustration of what the philosopher Epictetus observed, People are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of them. The Primary Concept for us is: People and events don’t bother us, but our perceptions of them do.

Martin Guitars has an ad campaign called, “Crossroads.” In the ad, they retell the legend of Robert Johnson’s encounter with the devil. It’s a gloomy night at a crossroads on a rural Mississippi plantation in the early 1930’s. A struggling blues musician named Robert Johnson has a burning desire to play his guitar better than anyone else. At this lonely intersection, the Devil waits for Johnson. With the moon shining down, the Devil plays a few songs on Johnson’s guitar. When Robert Johnson gets his guitar back, he has complete mastery over the instrument. His soul now belongs to the supernatural being, and for the next 5 years or so, he creates music that will live past his tragic, suspicious death in 1938 at the age of 27.

A closer look at the lyrics of “Crossroads” shows not a man struggling with the devil and fame but with loneliness and pain. The crossroad is whether or not his pain will overwhelm him or whether or not he can come through it with a song. Here are Robert Johnson’s lyrics and a video to listen to the original version

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Can you take your struggles and turn them into a song?

The Way is like the sower scattering seed everywhere.
Some falls upon the road eaten by the birds.
Some falls upon rocks and never takes root.
Some falls upon thorns and are choked out.
Some falls upon the good soil and brings forth a healthy crop.
The sower is not concerned for seed that is lost.
He does not worry about seed that is eaten by birds,
that takes no root upon rocks, or is choked out by thorns.
The sower understands life.
Life grows exponentially.
Life always wins over roads, rocks, and thorns.
So it is with The Way.
The Way is like a mustard seed tiny but large in life.

The Way is like kudzu, once it starts growing in your field,
you’ll never get it out.

The Way is like yeast, a small amount does much
transforming a lump of dough into a loaf,
and all who eat of it are filled.

Matthew 19:14 Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.”

Dick Renard wrote, “God, Help Me Be Like My Boys”
When I look at my boys, I see the life of simple concentration.
They play hard, they work hard, they learn with intensity
They fight going to bed because they haven’t had enough of today.
They look forward to tomorrow only at bedtime prayers.
God, help me be like my boys.
They love unconditionally.
They don’t worry about food or clothes or where they will sleep.
They know they will be taken care of.
They move into the world as friendly agents, without pretense or false motive.
God, help me be like my boys.
They know who you are and have no doubt they will be with you forever.
They see your awesome creative powers.
They don’t compromise their faith with their friends.
They communicate their feelings without the mask of an adult.
God help me be like my boys.
But, O God, look at me. See my insides. I’m just the opposite of my boys.
I hold onto anger instead of putting it behind me.
I don’t genuinely laugh anymore. I want to go to be because I’m tired.
God, help me be like my boys.
My relationships are conditional. I like those who like me.
There is usually a motive to all I do. I’m cautious moving into the world.
I worry about my family, my job, money, and things.
I often wonder if you will take care of me.
God, help me be like my boys.
I’m afraid my faith is not socially acceptable. Some friends feel I’ve committed intellectual suicide. I’ve become a chameleon to hide my embarrassment of you. I wonder why you came to me because I am so selfish.
God, help me be like my boys.
God, I look at my two boys and I see a refreshing view of you.
I see life and gaiety. I see acceptance and conviction.
I see strength and commitment. I see a pair who know what it means to die for you.
God, help me be like my boys.
Please, God, don’t allow their hearts to ever change. Let me be like my boys because I want to be like you.

The last post looks at Carl Jung’s four stages of development (as we journey from humans having spiritual experiences to spirits having human experiences. Leon Oudejans offers a great picture of the four stages with the epiphanies that accompany each transition.

Here are the top quotes by Carl Jung to help you on your journey from humans stuck in life hoping for a spiritual experience to spirits on an awakened human journey:

Here are some of my favorite poems and prayers for a daily reading to help guide you on your journey toward Easter.
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https://davidjonespub.com/wp-content/uploads/40-Days.pdf

According to Carl Jung, we grow up as humans and on the journey, we have spiritual experience. The goal for life is to mature, to become spirits having a human experience.

Here are Jung’s 4 Archetypes or Stages of Development:

Looking at the Baptism of Christ presents some deep theological questions.

Consider this painting by Pheoris West, what images do you notice?

Can you see:
a rigid image of John the Baptist to the right?
the dove?
the face and arms of God?
why does Jesus face turn? What is he looking toward following his baptism?

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Curly the cowboy addresses the secret to life…

Jesus faced a similar question, and gave a similar answer (though I imagine without the cigarette or the hat) in Matthew 22:

³⁶ “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” ³⁷ He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ ³⁸ This is the greatest and first commandment.³⁹ And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ ⁴⁰ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Just one simple thing you’ve got to do…

Challenged to be mindful of my moments, I found several role models who had been down this path before me. Throughout the scriptures, God speaks to people and the common response is, “Here I am.” God calls Abraham who responds, “Here I am.” To Moses at the burning bush, God calls him by name and Moses responds, “Here I am.” To the little boy Samuel in a dream, God calls, and Samuel responds, “Here I am. Speak, Lord, your servant is listening,” Seeking another servant years later, God cries out, “Whom shall I send,” and Isaiah says, “Here am I, send me.” The most celebrated response is teenage Mary, responds, “Here am I,” and then ends with, “May it be to me as you have said.”
“Here” for all those saints and so many others came not on some consecrated mountain or sacred space, but in holy moments, places in time where God and persons met.
When Moses said, “Tell me your name.” and God replied, “I AM,” God was inviting Moses to encounter God there, in the present moment. What does “I AM” mean if not the presence of God? Certainly for Moses descending the mountain, the holy name, “I AM” was the promise “I AM (Here).” Moses faced Pharaoh ten times aware in each confrontation, “Perhaps this time, Pharaoh will have me killed.” How could he have such courage? Each time he went, risking all, but expecting “I AM HERE” to be present.
The contrast between the symbolic pyramids of Pharaoh and God’s burning bush is neon. One is a wonder of the world and the other is the work of God. One has outlasted time while the other transcends time. One is built on the backs of slaves while the other is a call to liberate slaves. One puts a governor’s power over God the other points to God over governors. One is an attempt to defeat time while the other is a call into moment after moment with God. Finally, one is a an empty tomb and one is a call into life greater than death.
When we end our prayers with “Amen” which means “So be it,” they seem final, over, complete. “Amen” feels like we have prayed our prayer and can move on. Whether alone or in a congregation, ending a prayer with, “Here I am,” implies readiness and an openness to God in each moment.

A king gave one of his servants a challenge, he said, “Go and find a ring that will make a happy person sad and a sad person happy.” The servant searched the jewelers and merchants in every surrounding village and kingdom, and then he returned years later.
The king asked, “You’ve found a ring that can make a sad person happy and a happy person sad?”
The servant nodded and gave the ring to the king who looked at it closely then said to his servant, “Well done. Surely, this is a ring that can make a sad person happy and a happy person sad.”
The inscription inside the ring was, “For the moment…”

To the person with a painful illness or some other terrible burden to bear, “For the moment…” reminds him or her it won’t last forever. To the rich, successful, or the young, “For the moment…” can result in grief knowing it won’t last forever.
Reminding myself of my moments helps me appreciate them. The poet Shiki pointed out how we can miss our moments with others if we are not attentive,

When you are measuring life, you are not living it.
Mitch Albom

 
In 2011, following the Nashville flood and downturn in the economy, in a time of uncertainty in my life, I prayed to God, “What do you want me to do?”
God responded, “The question is not, ‘What do I want you to do?’ The question is, ‘Who do I want you to be?’” For me, a good sign that God is speaking to me and not just my own voice echoing in my head is when my questions are answered with another question. Apparently, The Socratic Method is not dead with God.
I thought for a minute. Carefully considering my response, then I asked, “Okay, who do you want me to be?”
Silence. No response. No answer. Three months. Six months. Longer, still waiting and left with the question, “Who am I to be?” For a year, I tried being good, competent, successful, effective. I tried being like Jesus, which in my mind, somehow meant being ‘nice’ to everyone even though few perceived Jesus as ‘nice’ in the gospels. I even tried being like Old Yellar, yes, the dog from the Disney movie, loyal, faithful, defending his family, sacrificing himself.
I tried being anything and everything I could for about a year. I failed repeatedly at many different things. “Who am I to be?” went unanswered.
After a time of too long silence, God spoke, with another question. “Do you know who I want you to be?”
“Not a clue,” I replied.
God said simply, “Here.”
“Here?” I asked. I did not understand. In all the things I’d thought to try and be over the previous year, all the roles I thought my congregation and my family needed from me, “Here” never occurred to me. “Here?” I asked again.
“Here,” God replied. “You are everywhere but here.”
God’s challenge to be “here” was not about an address, or a location. “Being here” was about being present in the moments of my life. God’s accusation was accurate. I was many places in my mind, seldom was ‘here’ one of them. I embodied the ancient proverb, “People live their lives like an arrow shot into the air, so busy thinking about where they came from worried about where they might land that they miss all the heavenly glory around them.” I was carrying past pain and trying to prevent all future problems. I brought so many expectations to each moment that I clouded my perceptions of people and experiences. I recognized my challenge to be present and the work it would take as Henry David Thoreau encouraged,
 

Matthew 18: At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” 2 He called a child, whom he put among them, 3 and said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

When I forget the distinct personality, the particular possibility and potential each person has, my children remind me, like when my son, Nathan, showed me the possibilities of a trashcan when seen through his eyes. If I were with you right now, I’d show you a plastic trashcan. Since I’m not with you, find a trashcan or imagine one. It has a function. It was built for that function in a factory. Some factory produces thousands of identical trashcans intelligently designed for one purpose. I usually saw the one in my office as a trashcan and only a trashcan, until Nathan taught me otherwise. For Nathan, the trashcan wasn’t a receptacle and only a receptacle, a container for the unwanted refuse, for with his imagination, there were a thousand possibilities.  It became a stool, a storage container, a hurdle, a hat, a drum, and of course, a paper wad basketball goal. The factory in it’s void of intelligence saw it for one productive purpose and no more. Because Nathan is alive, he can envision, name, and make more than trashcans, he can make possibilities. He is possibility and possibility in a unique and distinctive way that is his and his alone.
To be a product is to be uniform, to be alive is to be unique. Look at any child, they are not a factory model. No child was made like a watch, car, or airplane. Life produces life. And people who don’t think they are machines, celebrate the differences instead of trying to fix others.
Learning that we are distinct persons is the requirement for living in relationship. You can’t celebrate another person until you celebrate your own personhood. Personhood is required for relationship, as Rabbi Heshcel counseled,