Flesh in...

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us…”

John 1:14

I don’t know very much about much. I do know that I have bumbled around plenty. Some bumblings have been of the focused sort and some, well, not so much…  None was necessarily directionless as I have learned plenty in rabbit holes I really didn't think I needed to explore. I am thankful that my spiritual formation, as angelic as some moments have been, has always seemed to force me into a more profound earthy reality. I am convinced that spirituality and humanity should not be separated.

I remember walking along Quinpool Road when Julia was about five years of age. I did my best to protect my daughter from hearing the vulgarity of a very drunk homeless man as we walked by. I admit my primary motivation was a desire to protect my daughter from his tirade of insults directed toward passerbys.

Julia asked, “Why is he like that, daddy?” to which I bumbled to find a half-suitable answer when a moment of self-possessed illumination caused me to say, “I think it’s because he doesn’t have anyone in his life who loves him.” My reply to her came with a certain sense of self-satisfaction as I just spewed out what I thought was a clever, fitting answer which would surely satisfy a little girl.

This sense of self-satisfaction quickly, and entirely, evaporated when Julia responded, “But, daddy, I love him.” She totally unravelled my new-found, detached spiritual thesis of love and replaced it with a deep, personal intimacy of love. She revealed my answer as one of detached spiritual nonsense void of the humanness, mundane dirt and grime of authentic spirituality.

Out of the mouth of this babe came the truth that the incarnation forces us into a world of “sinners and tax collectors” armed only with an abundance of subsistence; a daily portion of grace. Being fully human is to embrace the spirituality of every aspect of the human condition; a condition with plenty of crap, to put it mildly. If we ignore any part of the human condition we stand to give power to either spiritual blindness or some sort of self-delusion.

Most surprising for me in my bumblings is that any “progress” I seem to make spiritually results in the very notion of progress being shattered by a deeper understanding of my brokenness. I really can’t claim much success, or progress, based on my own merit. This, of course, heightens the very scandal of the incarnation and the crucifixion in my own mind as I come to see that I am more dependent on my daily portion of grace that I care to fully admit to myself. That I meet an even deeper outpouring of acceptance amid this state of dependence is, paradoxically, not to deepen in despair but to deepen in the freedom of grace. It is to come alive. It is to bask in grace. It is to know love and to be set free.

I have come to see that every moment of spirituality is a deeper call to humanity.

I think this is the way of the cross.

“Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried.”

GK Chesterton