Not Less Than Everything

“We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.”

― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

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Dear Kate,

What is the Christian "Gospel," the "good news," so good, that, ironically, we find ourselves rubbing our eyes in disbelief, needing to pledge our "faith" often most reluctantly to trust and continue to trust every new morning that this is what is really going on, despite all, because of all?

I've been having this diarrhea for two days, and the night before my son scraped our family car big time.  So excuse me for being lazy: I am going to share with you the three opening paragraphs from Mike Higton's reflection on the "Difficult Gospel" of the Theology of Rowan Williams.  See if you can find yourself in them.

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"Last month, I found myself sitting in an airport departure lounge littered with people in transit: people from more backgrounds than I could guess, speakers of more languages than I was able to recognize, all accidentally thrown together in a cluttered public space in which few of us ever spoke more than a handful of words to any of those around us. I was on my way to what was for me an important meeting, finishing some university business I had been negotiating for months; I was nervous, defensive, concerned to make a good impression when I arrived at my destination. With some dull time to fill before my flight was called, I tried to decide how to begin this description of Rowan Williams’ theology. In particular, I tried to think of a way to convey the claim that in the two or more million words of his published writings he is constantly concerned to press one simple question - and I realized that I could not think about that question without asking how it caught up with me exactly there, exactly then. 

 
Sitting there, I was aware of the work-stale glances of the airport staff, of the quickly averted eyes of my fellow travellers, of the anticipated scrutiny of those I was going to meet, of the assessing gaze of my employers carried around in my head, and of my own anxious self regard. What difference would it have made if I had let myself believe that, beyond all these, I was held in a wholly loving gaze? What difference would it have made if I believed myself subject to a gaze which saw all my surface accidents and arrangements, all my inner habits and inheritances, all my anxieties and arrogances, all my history - and yet a gaze which nevertheless loved that whole tangled bundle which makes me the self I am, with an utterly free, utterly selfless love? What difference would it have made if I let myself believe that I was held in a loving gaze that saw all the twists and distortions of my messy self, all the harm that it can do and has done, but also saw all that it could become, all that it could give to others, and all that it could receive? 

And what difference would it have made if I had seen each face around me in that departure lounge - cleaners, businessmen, emigrants and immigrants, waitresses, tourists, even academics on university business - as individually held in the same overwhelming, loving gaze? What difference would it have made if I believed each person around me to be loved with the same focus, by a love which saw each person's unique history, unique problems, unique capacity, unique gift? And what difference would it have made if I believed that this love nevertheless made no distinctions between people more worthy and people less worthy of love, no distinctions of race, religion, age, innocence, strength, or beauty: a lavish and indiscriminate love?"

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What difference would it make if I let myself believe that, beyond all my fallenness, I am held in a wholly loving gaze of God?  And what difference would it make if I see each face around me as individually held in the same overwhelming, loving gaze?  These are two of most fundamental questions the Christian "Good News" asks us to consider.

And what better news can there be, that we are being loved "unconditionally," "just the way we are," as we often dream upon a star, a lover?  And isn't "fairness" and "equality for all" our vision of human togetherness, eradicating all barriers to authentic communion, ending all estrangement?  The Christian Gospel promises these: yet why is it so darn difficult?

Earlier this month I asked these questions: What is the implication of defacing a human being, any human being, especially those we believe deserve defacing, if all human beings are made in the image of God?  And, as Christians, if we believe defacing another human being is justified, then how is it so without compromising the vision of human togetherness, let alone flourishing together?  Are there certain elements in Creation, certain sort of creatures, that, in our opinion, should be excluded from eternal communion with God?

Then I suggested the most repugnant aspect of Christianity has always been that forgiveness and reconciliation are available to all, because, honestly, we do believe somebody deserves hell (and, with all humility and gentleness, that the "somebody" is not ourselves.)

But we don't have to go too far, too extreme, to speak about "loving our enemies," or not joining a war.  Let's go back to where Mike Higton took us to in those three paragraphs.

Imagine you've hired a contractor, and today's he's coming to fix your roof.  You don't trust contractors, least of it your roof to them.  You love your roof, it being good, because the sight of water dripping down your lovely living room wall is hellfire to your soul, anxiety burns deep and long and haunting, brighter with each recurring nightmare.

So, there, the contractor is at your door, you are now walking there to make a first real human contact, socially and emotionally and financially distant to him, none pandemic related, because, in many ways, he is your competitor, fighting against each other for a certain vague pie of available good/wealth/wellbeing that a piece more for him is one less for you.  He is not here if not for your money.  You won't allow him here if not for the damn roof.  Let's negotiate this like adults, navigate this very costly project to, if not winning over, at least not losing to him, your necessary helper, a help you would rather not need.  You feel like a beggar, ready to bite.

And there, Jesus, opening His face to you as you open the door, and you hear the Good News of "complete simplicity"--costing you not less than everything.

Yours, Alex