The Question beneath the Question (November 13, 2023)

(November 13, 2023)

Dear Friends, 

A friend and I had lunch a few weeks ago. Curiously, it was before we were aware of the path we were about to walk. My friend planted a seed of a thought that has shaped everything that has followed. 

He said something along the lines of, "Sometimes I wonder if we get stuck on the wrong questions." 

Ordinarily I would say that context matters, but I wonder if it really does in this case. I wonder if our inclination to ask questions that cut things down to size, to sort and to name, to wring the mystery out of what is inherently mysterious might betray our own fear -  the fear that often colors everything, no matter the context.  

How I long for understanding. If I can understand, then perhaps I can control.  Perhaps if I can control, then I can manage my own fears. 

Here is the connection. When we are given a diagnosis, we want answers to questions like, "How long?" "Why?"  "How can I change the outcome with my diet or exercise or supplements or lifestyle?" Of course we do, and I am not suggesting there is anything at all wrong with these questions. They are good and meaningful questions.

But I wonder if there are deeper and more important questions that we never quite get to when we focus solely on sense-making and control. 

For instance, what if the question under the question is, "How is God making his love for us known in this moment?"   There is not much control in this question. Just an assumption of God's love, and the invitation to see it more clearly. To behold it and to marvel. To surrender to grace. 

This weekend we took a break from doctor visits and MRIs and CTs. It was magical. We were able to get to church and God's love was right there, so clear to see in unembarrassed, long, deep hugs, in the willingness of friends and strangers to laugh with us and cry with us, and in the way people looked directly into our eyes and told us, without flinching, that they are holding us up in prayer. People are speaking with the God of everything on our behalves. Think of that, take it seriously if you can, and try not to lose it. I dare you. (I simply cannot not lose it. Nope.)

But it wasn't only at church. This weekend, the line between the sacred and the profane faded into irrelevance. When the question is, "How is God making his love known?" it can be hard to see anything else. Every person is grace. Every sunrise over the James River is grace. Every portrait of a rose is grace. Every morning walk with a loved one is grace. Chicken chili and unhurried conversations with old and new friends - grace. Running into an old shipmate at Deep Run Park and bite-sized cupcakes - baked by Melissa herself - grace.  Every single thing, a reminder that we are beloved and a promise that there is nothing to fear. 

One of my spiritual mentors calls it crazy, holy grace. Crazy, of course, because it doesn't make sense to those of us with such limited vision. And holy because of its source. 

What if we were able to see today through that lens? To recognize the crazy, holy grace in every single thing? It feels like it might change everything. 

(Rant over.)

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For the upcoming week - lots of visits with dear friends. Lots of meals with people who see grace and people who are grace. Hopefully, lots of chances to breathe in that love and grace and breathe them back into our little place in the world. 

Oh! And radiation and chemo start on Thursday.  Somehow, those seem like the least interesting parts of the whole thing.

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One final note: In the next few days, these updates will shift from regular email to Substack. 

There are a number of reasons for the change, but the hope is to get beyond logistics updates and soap-box rants and to invite people into a community of beholding. A community of belonging. A place where people can share the overwhelming sense of being loved . A place where people are given permission to give words to the trust and the hope they carry, but are too often told, Better keep that to yourself. A place to ask better questions. A place about poetry and baking bread and morning dew and prayer and beauty and God. Mostly, a place to be with. 

The truth is, we don't know exactly what this will look like and we are okay with that. Just look for the change, and maybe consider the invitation, and we can figure out what it will look like together.

More coming.

Oremus,

Chris and Kathryn