Drivers Wanted
Why do we have all these feelings, dreams
and hope if we don't ever use them? That's
where Shirley Valentine disappoints. She got
lost in all this unused life. I've
fallen in love with the idea of living.
Shirley Valentine
The aim of life is to live, and to live
means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly,
serenely, divinely aware. Henry
Miller
I have written before that I was raised in a world where excess is a dirty word. I assimilated and absorbed life in the school of antiseptic gardening, requiring, even demanding a well-manicured, well-modulated world. That is, all thing in their correct places. Above all, tidy and evenly spaced, with no threat of overflow, for there nothing touches. I chose to strive for what was proper and tasteful. Unobtrusive and correct. In this light, my vocational choice made sense. The thought of intoxication as a prerequisite for my soul was utter heresy!
I excelled (cum laude and all that) in the school where image is everything, measured against the requirement to do things "correctly." So it is no surprise that all areas of my life were carefully scripted. And I kept all of my emotions in check, meting out only those that others or I deemed appropriate. I went overboard protecting myself against the sin of immoderation.
Avoiding the pit of being at the mercy of my feelings, that discomfiting place where passions rage and demons howl, where colors bubble and explode, where one is no longer in control, no longer restrained, as the heart-not to be trusted-wildly races. For incentive, and to stay the course of control, I carried in my mind pictures of men with puffed scarlet faces, contemptible and pitied. I was above all that, surely. And the result is that there was a part of myself, this cauldron of passions, I entombed. Of what was I afraid?
Your guess is as good as mine. However, you slice it, there is, to be sure, a price to be paid for living this way-all emotions restricted, close to the chest. The payoff is certainly for the short run, while we sill enjoy the apparent rewards for our protectiveness, as the world feel manageable and comfortable. Meanwhile, our enemies---our fears---are kept at bay by true grit.
I try not to live that way anymore.
In 1995 Volkswagen ran an ad. The ad conjured up what it felt like to drive their car. Taking it around fast curves. Or maybe over rocky desert roads. It felt liberating and unbound and precarious. What I do remember best are the words at the end of the ad. Simply this: "Drivers wanted."
That's not comfortable when we live risk-averse.
It reminds me of the man who has fallen off a cliff but managed to grab onto a weak vine. He looks up and cries out for help. Suddenly, a deep, booming voice from the sky says gently to him. 'It is alright, my son. I am here and will never let harm befall you. Just let go of the vine, and fall into my arms. I will catch you.' The surprised man thinks about this for a moment, looks down at the ground thousands of feet below, then up to the ledge above him, clears his throat, and asks, 'Um . . .is there anybody else up there?'"
I spent the day in Columbus, Ohio, at First Community Church. I preached about letting our light shine. About letting go of the vine. Or giving up our need for control. About living aware.
I returned to my hotel tired, and late at night, knowing that I still needed to write this Sabbath Moment. And having no idea what I would way.
I stopped in the parking lot.
It's a cool early autumn night here. Did you see the moon? People call it the Harvest Moon. Something about being closer to the earth. Something about being bright enough for farmers---back in the day---to stay into the night to tend their crops. I don't know about those stories. But I do know this: I stood in the parking lot outside of my hotel for quite some time, and watched the moon.
And I didn't try to measure or weigh or evaluate what I felt or why. It was enough to stand in awe, and be glad to be alive.
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.
But the Skin Horse only smiled. "The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.
The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams
Dear Jesus,
I hear you say, "Behold I make all things new." I notice you didn't say, "Behold, I make all new things." And so, you seem content to bring about your kingdom using only the raw materials at your disposal---us.
The one you all Abba created us in his own image. His fingerprints are all over us. But the resemblance has gown distorted over the years.
You promise to transform us---not to make us different or unknown to ourselves----but to reveal to us our original face, to call us out of the tombs where we drift off to live, and to bring us into the light.
Help us see the light, Lord. We ask you this in confidence because we know you love us.
Amen.
(Tom McGrath, Loyola Press)
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