There was a vision of America I grew up with that said the point of it all was to go out and do. Put your shoes on and run. Take the hammer and build. Burn the night oil, work to the bone. Do what you have to do to build something up, make some more. Keep going until you give out.
And I think that’s something I wanted. It’s definitely something I did. “I want to make money” is what I would say. But it might have been either the crash in ‘08 or reading Catcher in the Rye where that foundation started to break. There is a certain phoniness in wanting to make as much money as possible after seeing how a couple bad decisions can tear a whole economy down. Its a kind of phoniness that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Seeing teacher’s mouths purse into a thin line and everyone crowding around the television at restaurants with similar vibes is a lesson I still haven’t forgotten. What is the purpose of this if all it is so inherently rotten?
I sought out the moderns, and they told me there wasn’t. I went to the Buddha, and he told me the same, except with a smile. And at first I believed them, but it didn’t feel right. It matters, it all matters, I thought to myself, but not in the way the stock traders believed. Matter doesn’t matter because of what it can bring. Matter matters because matter existing at all is a miraculous thing.
So I searched and I wrestled until I heard the kind words of a wounded redeemer who conquered the world. He told me it matters, but not in the way that I wanted it to. It matters because its owned. This world is a garden, a treasure, a feast. The Lord who created it has given it to me to enjoy, but it is not as it should be and its on its way home. There will be a remaking, an unmaking, a change. All will be all in all, submitted to a King. I laughed and wept as I heard him. This is the only thing that has ever made sense. And yet, it is all even more beautiful than I could have ever dreamt.
Now, what shall I do, and what must be done? I want to feel the suns rays and think of the Father’s love. I’ll swim in the deeps. I want to notice the trees. The world is a feast, so I eat, I drink.
What I am trying to say is that in light of my saviors wounds, I do not want the world. It is not mine to own. If its the rats that are running, I don’t want to join. In seeking the world, there is just so much to lose. I don’t ever want to look at my son’s face and wonder whats changed. I don’t want to hold my girl’s hand and marvel at the warmth thats been erased.
If it all matters so much, there is too much at stake in pursuing the next wave. If there is one thing to desire then, it is contentment. I choose to stay, to kiss the earth here and love it for life. I will grab the hammer and build not for a buck but for a people. I’ll sit in the cool of the day and talk to my boy about the deep things of God. I’ll notice the way his hair grows and how he looks like his mom, then carry him to bed until he outgrows me. And at night, I’ll hold my girl’s hand until sleep takes us both.
And may I spend what energy I would have wasted on running in circles in loving the Church, Christ’ beautiful bride. If I work to exhaustion, I pray it is for her people. It is a pity I only have one life to give to her well being.
And then when it is all said and done, I wish to be buried, “into the ground here as a last wild gesture of love”1 to this place.
And maybe even more so, as a stubborn declaration that I was so against running the rat race that even my body will remain until the Savior himself pulls me out into the light of new day.
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Marilynne Robinson, Gilead, 287