The Long Journey

Just like the story of the magi, the story of Joseph being told in a dream to take Mary and Jesus and flee to Egypt to escape Herod is just that – a story. There is no historical corroboration for this story, nor did it even show up until 50 years after Jesus was executed. It is likely a story to form a bookend with the end of Jesus’ life, to tell the listener that Jesus was a threat to Rome and the powers-that-be from the moment he was born.

There are many possible lessons, tidbits of wisdom, to glean from this story. So, I invite you to join me in digging deeper than the literal meaning. In Matthew 2:13-23, we find Joseph, startled from sleep by a divine urging—a dream that tells him to take Mary and Jesus and flee from the violence of Herod. It’s one of those proverbial forks in the road that each person encounters. A fork not asked for, not wanted, yet there it is.

Joseph has to make a decision, quickly. No time to ponder. No time to seek guidance or determine if the threat is real. And no clear path ahead.

Mark Nepo, in his book The One Life We’re Given writes, “Hard as this is, this is where the inner journey begins, when all we’ve carried has served its purpose and now we must burn our expectations to light our way. This is when we assume our full stature in order to see what’s ahead. This is when the soul shows itself, if we listen.”

What a phrase, “we have to burn our expectations to light our way.” Whatever Joseph expected to happen, it probably wasn’t this. When the angel told Joe that Mary was with child and they needed to still get married, Gabriel said nothing of eventually having to leave their home, work, family, friends, rabbi, all of it, and flee for their lives to a foreign country.

But when stripped of his plans and expectations, Joe has the wisdom and experience to pull himself up to his “full stature” and digs deep to listen to his soul where he finds faith, trust, strength, courage and a strong sense of obedience to God.

I give Joe credit. He was devoted to God, and well indoctrinated in his Jewish faith. When God said “go” he went. No questions asked – that we know of anyway. In that split second of a decision, Joseph was able to dig deep, burn his expectations, and commit to a long journey on an uncertain path to protect his wife and child and ensure a future for his son.

On the other hand, when I saw the seminary fork in the road it took me eight years to heed the call to go into the ministry… of course I don’t quite have the inner stance of obedience that Joseph had. In my younger years I was probably more apt to do exactly the opposite of what someone thought I should do, just to prove I was an independent thinker not to be controlled by anyone else. In fact, even my capitulation to go to seminary had an exit clause as far as I was concerned.

Consider your own life? When have you encountered one of these forks in the road? When have you had to dig deep and draw yourself up to your full stature? When did your soul show itself to get you through something?

I can look back and see where I neglected to dig deep and let my soul speak – or I just didn’t know how – and my decisions at forks in the road were driven by fear rather than integrity and love.

Our country hit a fork in the road about a year ago and we’re on a new road now, whether we want it or not. We have a lot of fear for our world right now. And we carry a lot of anger about decisions that are being made (or not made). The question is how deep are we digging for our responses? What will we lead with? Our souls or our fear, anger and ego? Can we dig deeply enough to find the ground that will sustain us in a positive, giving, whole-hearted manner?

Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde, in her book, How We Learn to Be Brave, tells a story about how she was invited to be on a leadership team to analyze information on the state of the church (which we all know is not great), try to make sense of it, and look for a way forward. They held listening sessions to try and understand the experience of the people in their churches. They pored over congregational data and trend lines that documented a continuous decline. They argued among themselves, quick to point out the failings of others.

The leadership consultant they had hired to guide them through this process finally invited them to look at their own behavior and our “culture of critique.” “It takes no energy or creativity to point out what’s wrong,” he said. “But for everything you criticize, I challenge you to offer at least one suggestion for making it better.”

This is a valid, important and crucial challenge for every situation – our families, our relationships, our homes, our workplaces, our community, our world. It’s very easy to complain and worry and get angry about what is going wrong, but can we challenge ourselves to take one step (even a baby step) to make it better? Can we draw ourselves up to our full height, invite our souls to show up and help us move forward in a positive, meaningful, helpful way? People who can do this, despite or in the midst of difficulties, become beacons of light and inspiration for us.

Let me share two stories with you…

In Mark Nepo’s book, The Fifth Season, he shares Lyra Halprin’s story of her mother:

My mother [was] a classical pianist. Mom persevered in the face of sexism of the 1940s through the 1970s and built a robust musical career. Late in life, my sparkling mother taught me by example how to keep going despite aging. In her eighties she [would] still vigorously practice the piano, even though she suffered from arthritic pain. I remember watching her work on a piece by Franz Schubert, one of her favorite composers, and struggle to find a comfortable fingering.

“Damn,” she said. “Maybe this will work – ooh, that’s better!”

Her hands were redder and more swollen than usual.

“Ma, doesn’t it hurt when you play?” I asked.

She stopped and looked at me over the rhinestone glasses she wore.

“What, you think it doesn’t hurt if I don’t play?” she said.

She started up again, Schubert flowing from her twisted fingers, music filling the house.

Jack Kornfield, in his book, All in This Together, shares this story…

Vedran Smailovich lived in the ancient and stories city of Sarajevo, which was bettered in the Balkan War between Bosnia and Serbia in the 1990s. For three years, the beautiful city he loved was besieged by violence. People lived among mortar fire and rockets. No one could get in, and no one could get out, except for a few United Nations helicopters. And those who tried to escape were often killed by mortar fire.

Smailovic was a cellist in the Sarajevo Philharmonic Orchestra. During the siege, he would dress in his tux, grab his folding chair, and go out to wherever the mortars had struck to play his cello. People waited for him to appear. He played in ruined buildings, amidst the threat of snipers, and during funerals. In one stretch he played Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor for twenty-two days in a bomb crater in a ruined square of a Sarajevo marketplace to commemorate the twenty-two people who had been killed there. He played magnificent music every day so that the people of the city would not forget their beauty and would not give up hope.

These stories from Joseph to Smailovic remind us that even when we have to burn our expectations to light our way, we can still be light – treasuring, protecting, honoring those things that are most important. We can always assume our full stature in order to see what’s ahead, listen when the soul shows itself, and more forward seeking to be a positive force in the world.

Love & Light!

Kaye