Letters for the Road: January 2021
New Year's Resolutions and Turning Around
Dear reader,
I had a strange feeling of déjà vu on New Year’s Day as I considered the sun, bright and warm that morning. A year, by one definition, is simply another revolution of the Earth around the sun. In that sense, a new year is not new at all—we are in fact back where we began, at the same place in the Earth’s rotation that we were one year ago.
Yet, of course, the fact that we move through time as well as space marks the new year as new—we have not been here before. And for all the cynicism of those who deride new year’s resolutions, it is a time of hope and expectation. It offers us an opportunity to step out of any resignation or apathy and hope for something better. Yes, there are forms of this hope that are based on social pressure instead of an honest assessment of who we are and who we ought to be. Yes, there are forms of this hope that depend entirely on will power or technique, instead of falling on the grace of God.
But the abuse of something does not invalidate the proper use. And, rightly used, the new year is a time to reflect, hope and imagine what might be different about the coming twelve months, not because anything magical happens on the first of January, but because the symbol of the new is deeply embedded in our imaginations. The new represents a point of turning and change for the better—a symbol predicated on the new life and new creation that Christ has accomplished through the empty tomb.
The new year is an appropriate time to consider our days, as the psalmist admonishes us in Psalm 90, and to come face to face with the life we are living. And while many new year’s assessments and resolutions will orbit around the ideas of self-care and self-fulfillment, the cross calls us to a different kind of evaluation. Are we loving our God with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength? Are we loving our neighbours as ourselves?
The answer, of course, is no—we failed in 2020 as we always have. Perhaps, like it did for me, 2020 revealed enough failure and weakness to leave you exhausted and not sure what to make of the turning of the calendar to a new month, a new year. Perhaps it left you encouraged by new insights and ways of living. Whatever you are feeling as January pulls us along into another year, the gracious gift of God remains the same: the promise of the new that is not simply a change from a “0” to a “1,” that our failures are not the end of the story. We have the opportunity today to confess and to repent—literally, “to turn around.” To stop going in one direction and to start going the opposite way.
Turning around is one of the main themes of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth. For most of the book, the narrator, Axel, longs to return home: dragged along on a quest of his crazy uncle, (Professor Lindenbrock) he is sure that their quest to find the centre of the earth, and his uncle’s certainty that it is not as hot in the centre as all the theorists say it is, will lead them to their death. Axel’s journey is full of fear, until he sees proof that their journey is not a fool’s errand. Then, he enthusiastically presses on.
Before that, however, they face a fork in the road, and must decide which tunnel to take. They choose the eastern one, a choice that Professor Lindenbrock makes wholly uninformed. Not wanting to appear indecisive in front of their guide, he plows ahead without a second thought.
Soon, it’s very clear that they are lost: they are traveling uphill, not down further into the earth’s centre. When Axel confronts his uncle with this evidence, however, he refuses to admit any mistake. Instead, he continues on, despite their waning water supply. Only when they reach a dead end does he concede and allow them to turn back.
The reaching of a dead end is usually enough to make anyone admit that they have gone the wrong way and turn back. I wonder, though, what makes it possible to turn around before that? To see the evidence before you, as the professor surely did, and accept your mistake—before there is no other choice left?
For the professor, pride certainly stood in the way: he wanted to appear the confident and capable explorer to his nephew, whose protests and arguments he had been countering the entire trip, and also to his Icelandic guide, who had already proved his indispensability. He also wanted the professional fame that would come from succeeding on his expedition.
This pressure results in the loss of his “inner freedom,” as Henri Nouwen describes it. Reflecting on the parable of the prodigal son, Nouwen reflects on the means by which the son was able to turn around—to repent and come home to his father.
“The younger son realizes that he has lost the dignity of his sonship, but at the same time that sense of lost dignity makes him also aware that he is indeed the son who had dignity to lose...he could hear—although faintly— the voice calling him the Beloved and feel—although distantly—the touch of blessing. This awareness of and confidence in his father’s love, misty as it may have been, gave him the strength to claim for himself his sonship, even though that claim could not be based on any merit.”
What makes it possible for us to repent, to admit our wrongs and turn around? It’s not simply evidence that we are wrong—we can stare at incontrovertible proof and still continue on, as the professor did. More than this, we need to know the love of the Father, to hear and feel his blessing on us, and to experience this love as more profound and complete than any love promised by or hoped for from others.
Since I mentioned Henri Nouwen’s reflections on the prodigal son, I would be remiss not to include the painting that inspired his reflections: Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son. I love this painting—if you’ve been in our home you know that it’s hanging on our wall. Of Rembrandt’s depiction of the younger son, Nouwen writes: “The only remaining sign of dignity is the short sword hanging from his hips—the badge of his nobility. Even in the midst of his debasement, he had clung to the truth that he was still the son of his father. Otherwise, he would have sold his so valuable sword, the symbol of his sonship. The sword is there to show me that, although he came back speaking as a beggar and an outcast, he had not forgotten that he was still the son of his father. It was this remembered and valued sonship that finally persuaded him to turn back.”
I’ve been hearing a lot about Kristen Kobes Du Mez’s new book Jesus and John Wayne: How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation, and last week I was able to read it for myself. It was like watching a train wreck—I couldn’t look away. Much of it rings true to my experience. I’m really interested to know what those heavily involved in or influenced by the organisations the author examines—Focus on the Family, Promise Keepers, the Navigators, and IBLP, to name a few—think of Du Mez’s analysis, but I’m afraid that the subjectivity she frequently shows may alienate those readers. If you’ve read it, I’d love to hear from you!
On a lighter note, I enjoyed William Dryness’ Visual Faith: Art, Theology, and Worship in Dialogue. Dryness takes a tour through both church and art history, offers a theology of the arts and beauty, and proposes ways for the church to constructively and lovingly interact with art and artists. Really helpful and insightful.
My bedside book this month was Honoring the Body by Stephanie Paulsell. Paulsell considers what it means to be a body and to have a body, with the difficulties and beauties and simple pleasures: what happens when the body becomes an enemy? Does our exercise treat the body more as a task, or a gift? Her prose is gentle yet perceptive in a way that continually surprised and delighted me.
From The Mind of a Mother and a Maker
“...far from pretending that all women enjoyed laundry or considered childrearing a burden, Sayers refuses either extreme. Women, Sayers protests, “dislike perpetual washing and cooking just as much as perpetual typing and standing behind shop counters.” We would do best to remember the individual dignity and preferences of women. No one person can answer “what women want,” but each individual may speak for herself about her talents, abilities, and vocation.”
From Broken Body for Broken Bodies: The Grace of the Lord’s Supper in Eating Disorder Recovery
“We have been broken by the pain of isolation, estrangement from our own and others’ bodies, shame over sin that grows in the darkness of seclusion, and the aching lament over the loss of loved ones. Does the Church have any other gift like Communion that speaks so directly to each of these injuries of the soul? The Eucharist draws us into belonging in the Communion of Saints, assures us of the goodness of this material world, imparts the grace of Christ’s forgiveness and cleansing, and sets our hearts towards our heavenly home. Even while sharing the table might currently take extra care and creativity, perhaps this is exactly the season in which we all need the Supper more than ever.”
If you’re in the southern hemisphere and facing 30 and 40 degree C days this next month, you should try this chopped salad: easy prep, no cooking—exactly what a swelteringly hot day demands. And for you northern hemisphere folk who need something warm and cozy, my oldest son was just asking about when we can make this chicken wonton soup again, and now I’m looking for the next cool day so I can oblige him.
Lord God,
Father of our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ,
your name is great,
your nature is wonderful,
your goodness is inexhaustible,
you are God and Master of all things,
and are blessed forever.
You sit between the cherubim,
and are glorified by the seraphim.
Before you stand thousands of thousands
and ten thousand times ten thousand,
the hosts of holy angels and archangels.
Sanctify our souls and bodies and spirits,
calm our fears
cleanse our consciences,
and drive out every evil thought,
every selfish desire,
envy, pride, hypocrisy,
falsehood, deceit, anxiety,
covetousness, arrogance, laziness,
malice, anger, grudges,
blasphemy, deeds or thoughts
that are contrary to your holy will.
O Lord, since you love us all,
give us the strength to boldly call on you
in the freedom of Christ,
without condemnation,
with a pure heart and a contrite soul,
with undivided attention
and with sanctified lips,
as our holy God and Father in heaven.
On the road with you,
Laura
P.S. I’d love to hear from you! You can leave a comment below or reply privately to laura@thecerbuses.com.