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Why are we afraid of
friendly cobras, lonely spiders merely seeking human companionship, dizzying
heights offering transcendence, or days of special blessing like Friday the
thirteenth? These are reminders that mystery plays a strange role in our
lives.
Do you remember your first
brush with mystery?
Mystery appeared
suddenly one morning when I was a small boy playing on the roof of an
apartment house where I lived in Manhattan. I saw a large orange, green and
black bug near me. A strange and beautiful bug! On a roof with me in the
heart of New York City! I raced downstairs to my family’s apartment in
search of a small box, for I didn’t want to lose it. Soon, seeming to bond
with me, the bug moved easily into the container. But it became apparent I
hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with the bug. Feed it? Give it water?
A buddy accompanied me
to the nearby Museum of Natural History. I asked: could anyone explain the
bug’s identity, tell me what to do with it? Days later I was notified that
my bug was likely the only one like it in the United States, having probably
traveled here on a boat from Asia. The museum thankfully accepted it as a
valuable addition, promised to care for it, and formally recorded my name as
donor.
Since that day all
kinds of mysteries—holy to secular, small to large—have touched my life.
But the orange, green and black bug taught me unmistakably that mystery can
be immediate, up close, and friendly. Without mystery—and its first
cousins, wonder and surprises—I wonder where we’d all be.
Not everyone enjoys
the companionship of mystery. “I wish there was more vitality, drama, spice
and freshness in my life,” writes a reader. “I confess that I am bored and
a bit defeated by sameness, routine and my life’s landscape that looks flat
and unpromising. Can I do something to perk things up?”
Yes. This can range
from prayer and meditation to exercising your God-given imagination, look
with curiosity at the world outside immediate parameters, and realize that a
change in your own attitude can be the surest way to open up possibilities
in life. To have tolerance for mystery is a basis of faith. A seemingly
casual lunch conversation with a colleague can emerge as a lesson in grace;
a moment of stress or crisis may result in a change understanding marked by
new inner strength or serenity.
This happened to me in
an unforgettable way around fifty years ago. I’d always been afraid of dogs
since one bit me when I was a boy. Now, on a spring day in l955, I was
spending Holy Week at a Greek Orthodox seminary on a remote island near
Istanbul. I’d wandered off to take a walk on a deserted part of the
island.
Then, looking up at a hill
above, I was startled to see a pack of wild dogs. It appeared they were
about to swoop down on me. Was this one of those do or die moments in
life? I told myself: I mustn’t convey the least impression of fear.
Despite the fact I was
scared to death, I must appear brave. I did. Taking a cue from the
Cowardly Lion in “The Wizard of Oz,” somehow I acquired courage in the
process of projecting an image of it. I managed to continue on my walk
nonchalantly, sunnily, coolly and cheerfully. Bored, the dogs went away to
find someone or something more interesting. It was only later I realized my
fear of dogs had vanished as if by magic.
Many years would pass
before I had my deepest encounter with mystery. It occurred in Los Angeles
in January of l997. Beatrice, my mother, lay dying in a convalescent
hospital. It was ten days before her ninety-ninth birthday. Quietly I told
her that Jesus awaited her with great love, and so did dear friends over
many years. My mother’s eyes were closed, her hand limp in mind. Suddenly,
everything changed. Beatrice’s eyes opened wide and looked straight into
mine, revealing clear understanding and acceptance of what was happening.
Her hand, tightly clasping mine, was very, very firm. When her eyes closed
for the last time, still her hand maintained its sturdy, determined grip
before it finally let go.
The most passionate
communication had taken place. Mystery was here again. |
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Please write to "You and Me" in care of The Episcopal News, PO Box 512164,
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