No Holiness Confined

"What the Bible might mean, or how it could mean anything, in a closed, air-conditioned building, I do not know. I know that holiness cannot be confined. When you think you have captured it, it has already escaped; only its poor, pale ashes are left. It is after this foolish capture and the inevitable escape that you get translations of the Bible that read like a newspaper. Holiness is everywhere in Creation, it is as common as raindrops and leaves and blades of grass, but it does not sound like a newspaper."

Wendell Berry

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Dear Kate,

What the Bible might mean, or how it could mean anything, to a man working and writing from the comfort of his home, I do not know.  That's the question my story must explore.

I took out a stack of books, CD and DVD from the library, the very last day before it was closed down indefinitely due to the pandemic.  I needed to line up and wait for my turn, not exactly "physically distancing" yet at that time.  I walked to the library during my lunch break, with that unexpected bottleneck at the entrance, acted like a roadrunner once I was let in.  Thankfully not like a bulldozer.

I was looking at the stack last night and thought, "These stories don't belong together."  British kitchen-sink, Italian neo-realism, the "New German Cinema" that was almost four decades ago, and that's only the 3 at the top.  There's stuff in it that I would be proud of Trump being proud of.  There's stuff that Trudeau would speak moistly about.  There are stuffs you told me years ago that you couldn't stand (remember what?).  The stories speak for everyone by speaking for themselves, at once local and far-reaching, universal yet first specific and particular.

The acerbic English comedian Ricky Gervais chided celebrities who were complaining about being isolated "in a mansion with a swimming pool."  This guy is funny, but this time I wonder if unintentionally.  Weren't many of these people writing songs and making shows and even composing poetry to complain about being isolated in a mansion with a swimming pool before the pandemic and we loved and paid them for the bitching?

The pale ashes that were our yesterday won't be resurrected anytime soon, now that we have further isolated ourselves from the fire and storms, tears and raindrops of life.

Let's just say at this very moment we all have to step away as a way to step up for others.  Let's also admit "being there" doesn't always mean finding some sort of prima facie "good work" to busy ourselves with.  The questions we must ask ourselves now are: 

What am I doing in the here and now, my re-imagining to get myself ready for the day of re-emerging?

What is the re-creation that is happening in my life now that would usher in the New Creation tomorrow?

Am I even serious about holding myself accountable to the pledge that I will live more faithfully and care-full-ly when the opportunity is again given, like how it first was commissioned to me as a bearer of God's image, vicegerent of His reign?

Do we want our life story, obituary to read like yesterday's newspaper, holiness foolishly captured, inevitably escape, lost in the translation that is our unwillingness and ungratefulness and unfaithfulness?

I don't want to die in a mansion with a swimming pool.  Especially not facing down.

Yours, Alex