Holy Confusion (Batman)

I was way into Buddhism for a number of years. Well, maybe not "way" into it, but at least tripping around in the shallows. I was a pretty anxious person pre-kids-- no, seriously-- and really liked how meditation made me feel. I was also a big fan of Sharon Salzberg's discussions of loving-kindness, as well as Pema Chodron's little books on how to chill the eff out. This is when we were living in Ohio, and it was a trip with a friend to the Buddhist temple there (Columbus Karma Thegsum Choling) that made me realize I had to keep searching. It was a beautiful space, but I felt like an observer and not a participant.

Then came the Unitarian Universalist phase, which freaked my parents out because I got serious enough to tell them about it. We would go to services in this amazing, airy, light-filled space with all these amazingly cool and intellectual people and I would want to feel like I belonged, and tried hard to, but once again...no dice. When I told Mr. Milkweed I thought it might not be the place for me (and, to be fair, he never thought it was the place for him, but he came anyway), he asked me what I didn't like. And I knew instantly-- "Not enough Jesus," I told him. I needed more.

So despite growing up Episcopalian, falling away from the church (even while attending, but that's another post), and coming back, I've retained a little bit from each of those extracurricular excursions to understand the wisdom and value in other traditions. I mean, I'm not some kind of ecumenical sorceress, but a little reading and experimentation does add a bit of seasoning.

So when I get to a place like the one I'm in now-- where my faith is deepening even as my life gets more confused-- I find it helpful to recall a little bit of the wisdom I picked up back then. Yesterday I pulled out my copy of Pema Chodron's Comfortable with Uncertainty, and read this:

"When the bottom is falling out we might suddenly recall the slogan, 'If you can practice [tonglen, a type of meditation] even when distracted, then you are well-trained.' If we can practice when we're jealous, resentful, scornful, when we hate ourselves, then we are well trained. Again, practice means not continuing to strengthen the habitual patterns that keep us trapped; doing anything we can to shake up and ventilate our self-justification and blame. We do our best to stay with the strong energy without acting out or repressing. In so doing, our habits become more porous."

"We do our best to stay with the strong energy without acting out or repressing." That's one of the key elements of Buddhist practice-- being able to just sit with your emotions, experience them, and not shove them away or paint them over. You know what? That shit is hard. I mean, seriously-- when you're feeling what I've been feeling lately, which is uncertainty wrapped up with longing wrapped up with an acute need to be patient in the midst of an acute case of impatience (with a side of something like despair), you want to run away. Or dip down into the long dark night of the soul, or withdraw, or at the very least eat an entire bag of potato chips (which actually happened and OMG, I will never be able to drink enough water today).

But at the same time, I think it is SO IMPORTANT that I stay on the tightrope here. I might be as confused as I've ever been, but shoving that to the side just to feel more comfortable would be the worst idea ever, because who am I hiding from? From myself? From God? Well, peekaboo, because we both know where I am-- and at least one of us knows where I'm going.

There's all kinds of comforting stuff in the Bible about how intimately God knows us. Since I can't stop talking about the Psalms lately, the start of Psalm 139 is a real beauty:

O Lord, you have searched me out and known me:
you know when I sit or when I stand,
you comprehend my thoughts long before.
You discern my path and the places where I rest:
you are acquainted with all my ways.
For there is not a word on my tongue:
but you, Lord, know it altogether.
You have encompassed me behind and before:
and have laid your hand upon me.

And that's truly amazing, but do you know where I'm getting the most comfort lately? From Peter, the most awkward and bumbling of all the apostles. He sees Jesus walking on water and races out behind him, looks down, and falls right in. He witnesses Jesus' transfiguration, when both Moses and Elijah appear, and offers to build three tents for them so the party can continue. At the Last Supper, Jesus says he'll only accept as friends those whose feet he has washed, and Peter wants Jesus to wash his hands and give him a shampoo and set. It's all so endearingly human, and maybe indicative of a little naivete or confusion mixed in with all his faithfulness, and I can relate to that. In Peter, though, it's holy confusion, because he so truly loves Jesus and is loved in return. And that's what I'm choosing to call my state of mind lately: holy confusion. And as much as it hurts to just sit with it, I've brought a sandwich and a magazine and I'm not going anywhere.