Like that one about let God do the judging, you do the healing.
It’s not bad advice. Gets the twisty stuff out of my mind. It’s like the sun comes out when I can stop judging other people for a minute and relax. I wouldn’t know to do that except that I follow Jesus and that was his advice.
So I am a disciple – except I am the world’s most inconsistent disciple. Here’s a bit from the Gospel of Matthew I have successfully ignored so far: “If you want to be perfect, sell what you have, give the proceeds to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come and follow me.”
I have walked around this advice, inspected it, but decided not to ponder it, because it didn’t seem to lead to joy but rather to having to sell all my stuff, give the proceeds to “the poor”, then go wander around the countryside with out even a backpack and no place to keep dry and my dear little pigsty, where is it? And my little kids, if I still had some, would they have to wander around too? Not able to go to school and nothing to eat at night unless the rich lady felt generous, or we met (fat chance) some other disciple who was giving all their money to “the poor” – that’s me.
I just have not been able to see any joy in this particular scenario. Sounds like a big drag, frankly. So, I have decided not to ponder it. Until today.
I’m sure it has something to do with that twisty feeling.
It’s like, and I’m wandering off here – dancing in the sunshine Marin County Spring 1968 with a beautiful hippie girl I’d never seen before and never would see again, dancing for hours it seemed in pure joy while the Grateful Dead played off the back of a flatbed truck and my long hair gleamed and brushed the morning. No drugs – just joy of life and being young and sharing it with a dear beautiful saint for a moment.
It’s like that versus being chained to a death job with angry ghosts passing in the halls and meetings with sour, cynical faces day after day like in Dilbert – because I had to make the mortgage and my kids needed braces and our beautiful old Victorian was warm and safe with my girls safe and jolly and their friends running in and out.
Just seemed like that’s what you did when you were a man – you took care of your family, and that met burying your heart and living behind a mask. I never felt like I had a choice to sell all I had and give it to “the poor” and then go follow Jesus. Couldn’t I do it now somehow?
Oh dear , I don’t think I’ve pondered this through but rather got more confused…