This has been an incredibly difficult season for all of us, regardless of political or religious leanings. America is torn in a way that we haven’t seen for decades, if not our entire lives. For those of us of a certain age, we are reminded of the turbulent 1960s with massive urban riots, marches, extremists blowing up buildings and a war that seemed to drag on forever, claiming the lives of tens of thousands of our young men and causing a massive fracture in the national psyche. I was alive and aware then and it feels like that again.

I count among very close friends and family members, men and women whose viewpoints are widely ranging. Some are on the political left and some are on the political right. Some are atheists, others agnostic, some adhere to faiths different from my own and some are in alignment with my own beliefs. I have tried to disengage from any debates in recent weeks and months but it’s hard. As one who is grounded in history, political and economic philosophy and theology, I am wired to listen to evidence and opinion and to dialogue with others about these things.

The pandemic has served as a kind of chemical catalyst, setting fire to the tinder of our differences, causing massive increases in anxiety, fear, anger and other emotions. While I have tried to insulate myself from as much of this as possible because I can see how it has negatively affected me, I have not succeeded as well as I wish.

Turning off the TV and trying to tune out the shouting has helped to a degree but not enough. I belong in this world, aware, called to be an active participant. I am not called to be a hermit, nor an ostrich with one’s head in the sand.

So, what is a Christian supposed to do?

Diane and I have little stickers on the back windows of our two cars. They send a message that we are “not of this world.”

This is true. I am not of this world.

However, I am in it.

There is a difference. And, it is a big one. From one perspective, it is a fine line. From another perspective, an enormous gulf.

On the one hand, I was born in San Francisco in February of 1954 to a mother and father, who raised me to adulthood before I went off on my own at age 18. On the other hand, I am an eternal being, created in the image of God, who is my Father in the greatest sense and with whom I will spend that eternity. Two different realities. Both absolutely real. Both claiming me. Both defining who I am.

So, what does it mean to be “In this world but not of it?”

The short of it is that it’s a conundrum … even a battle when you get down to it. I’ll try to explain.

There are many who think that the natural reality of this existence is all there is and the idea that there is another overarching reality and an eminently powerful and loving supernatural God is anathema, to use a term.

Then there are many who think that the supernatural reality is so all encompassing that it does no good to pay attention to the (in comparison) trivialities of this natural world and the things that exist in it.

Jesus brooks no quarter. He says that both are very real and that we need to find the proper balance between them.

Easier said than done.

I am called, therefore, to be fully engaged in the circumstances surrounding me. To be specific, I am called to partner with God for the restoration of the world.

This means that God actually cares about things here and now and has a blueprint for the way things should be, even though they have gone completely cattywampus. My job is to help bring things to right … and that has a whole lot to do with the Second Commandment directing us to love one another.

It also has a whole lot to do with restructuring my thoughts, my actions, and my habits to bring them more in line with the remarkable teachings Jesus shared in his three-year ministry and that were later expounded upon by the Apostle Paul and the many others who followed.

On the other hand, I am called to realize that “my help comes from above,” as it’s put in one way. I cannot do this on my own. I am connected to a reality that nearly defies all comprehension but it is one I have seen and experienced with my own eyes and other senses. It is as real as the things that stand before me each day.

There is actually very little that I am in charge of. There is actually a very small universe over which I exercise control or influence. This is coming from a political activist who has walked countless streets, knocked on untold numbers of doors, made far more phone calls than I care to remember, marched, extolled, organized, researched, debated and on and on for as long as I can remember. I cast votes and sometimes my people win out and sometimes they don’t.

Next week, America will probably find out who our next President will be and which party or political group will control which parts of the federal government and many of the state and local governments.

Given most analyses, around 50% of the public, give or take, will be happy and the other 50% give or take will be quite upset.

On the other hand, God is God and Jesus is Jesus. Neither loses heavenly sleep over the outcome of an election on a small portion of this earth.

What they do lose sleep over, to coin a phrase, is whether I place my faith and hope in them as the ultimate arbiter of all things. What I know they desire is for me to see myself and others as they see me and us. And, that’s very different from what we think about when we’re immersed in the muck of disease and dissention.

I have lived long immersed in the world, passionately devoting much of my energies to things like justice and other socio-economic and political causes as well as seeing that thousands upon thousands of our children are cared for and given the best possible chance to flourish in their lives ahead. I don’t regret any of that. In fact, it’s been a great blessing to have lived such a life.

However, for far too long, I failed to understand the limitations of such devotion and the traps that accompanied such focused objectives.

With the realization that there is purpose and a plan infinitely greater than that of my own making, my perspective has changed. Not completely. Not by a longshot. But, it has changed.

I will wake up next Wednesday morning like most Americans to a new day. Perhaps we’ll know the lay of the land by then or maybe it will take a bit longer. I will either be relieved or troubled by the results. If I am relieved, I pray that God will grant me compassion for those who are deeply angered. If I am troubled, I pray that God will grant me peace and a full comprehension that nothing can separate me from Him … and that is the greatest news any of us can ever want.

Catchy title, eh? 🙂

I haven’t written seemingly forever. And, as anyone knows who is reading this, that forever has also seemed forever for all of during this terribly trying time. Occasionally, I think I should be writing, but “should” has never been a motivator for me when it comes to these reflections. Instead, the better term would be “compelled,” not as in “obligated” but as in “drawn towards.”

Perhaps that is a fine line but it makes a difference to me.

Ok, so sui generis is a kind of legal term but it basically means singular or unique or one-off. It stands alone. I could have used one of those words but I kind of liked the sound of sui generis. It’s certainly an uncommon term for the most uncommon of years.

Another main reason why I haven’t been writing is because everyone else is. Seemingly, every dimension of this past eight or nine months has been dissected, examined, analyzed, and commented on by people of every perspective under the sun. No matter the background or interest, you can’t access the public sphere without drowning under a cascade of commentary. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d have much to offer that wasn’t already being said by others. Plus, I plain didn’t want to add to the noise.

Enter my hummingbird.

Just outside the rear sliding glass door of our combined kitchen/living area, Diane has hung a hummingbird feeder. She keeps her eye on it to make sure the regulars have enough food and they respond by flitting in and around, clearly in our line of vision. But, that’s not where my hummingbird showed up.

I’ll call him “he,” but I honestly don’t know if it’s a he or a she. Forgive any latent sexism.

Most of the time, when I read, I sit on the small sofa in our living room that faces the big picture window looking out into our front yard. About five years ago, we took out our lawn and landscaped it with a beautiful combination of shrubs, trees, plants, succulents and other features. A band of rosa floribunda bushes cuts laterally across our yard, dividing it into equal spaces on the house side and the street side. There are a couple of wispy and leafy trees to my visual left overlooking the roses and both sections of the yard. Some of the succulents bloom with long stemmed red and orange flowers, standing out among the greenery and the white rose blossoms. Frequently, the lantana shrubs add yellow and orange while other small shrubs bloom with various purples. The crate myrtle tree next to the sidewalk blossoms with pink in the summer. I love gazing out at this scene and into the blue sky and clouds that help frame it. When I read, I take frequent breaks from my material to just gratefully absorb what it is I’m viewing. The crate myrtle and the three large junipers on the fence line to the left attract finches and mockingbirds. The occasional colorful butterfly darts around and my soul is fed.

Hummingbirds also enjoy feeding but some weeks ago, I noticed a pattern. One particular bird, it seemed, liked to rest on a lower branch of the wispy tree whose name I forget. In fact, that branch was really only a thin little twig with leaves. A tiny little bird sitting on a tiny little twig, both so light that any breath of breeze would move them both up and down like some miniscule joyride. Then, the little bird would dart out and among the flowers before returning to his perch. Occasionally, he would choose a different twig, maybe moving up a story or two in his new home but always he seemed to be there. I also noticed that when any other hummingbird decided to feed in our front yard, my little fella would take umbrage and chase him away. My bird. His yard.

I have written before about one of the most famous passages in the New Testament, the story related in the Gospel of Mark where the disciples and Jesus are sailing across the Sea of Galilee (actually a very large lake surrounded by mountains and, therefore, subject to some sudden and violent storms). In other words, out of almost nowhere come these tumultuous winds that also whip up the water into a frenzy. For a small sailing craft, the threat is immediate and, potentially, deadly. On this particular occasion, where there had been relative calm, now the world was turning fully upside down.

Of course, the disciples who were in the boat were petrified when this happened. A number of them were fishermen and they knew the danger they faced. They had recently seen Jesus perform a series of miracles and were coming to the understanding that he was far more than a learned rabbi and maybe even different than some of the renowned prophets from the distant past.

They turned to the rear of the boat where Jesus had positioned himself, hoping that he would use his powers to save them but, instead, found him asleep despite the raging storm. Rembrandt has a beautiful painting depicting this theme and I have the print behind me as I write these words. As the story unfolds, they awake Jesus who sternly tells the wind and the wave to cut it out which they immediately do, returning the water’s surface to glass. He then turns to the frightened and obviously astonished men and asks them why there are afraid … did they not have faith? In other words (as “faith” is a synonym for “trust”), did they not think that just because he was resting and did not appear to be conscious of their predicament, he was not there for them?

This is one of the great truths of my belief system, a system that I have tried to define in many different ways over the past four plus years. Unfortunately, it’s a truth that I too frequently forget. Far too often, I am as those disciples who, when faced with an unexpected challenge or calamity, forget the true nature of things.

There is no need for me to give an accounting of the challenges we all have been facing in this 2020 year. It’s become a standard refrain that, how could it get worse? And, then it does. At a minimum, more bizarre but, truthfully, more daunting by the month.

As one trained in history, economics, political science, theology, philosophy and a few others, there is no lack of opportunity for me to analyze the events of this year through multiple lenses. And, via that analysis, no lack of opportunity for anxiety, doubt, anger, fear and other dark emotions to get footholds in my consciousness. And, while some of that training has provided a platform for perspective that helps to place things in context, it’s still been a struggle.

Fortunately, I have a large support network of people, the most significant of course being Diane but expanding into other friends and acquaintances who provide balance for the thoughts that have threatened to shift me off course. And, of course, I have my solid ground. That solid ground is my time-and-again proven relationship with a God who has always been with me and who will never leave. As the apostle Paul famously said, “nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate us from the love of God.”

Enter, now, my new companion, the faithful little hummingbird who sits quietly on his perch in the midst of life in our front yard. His domain is seemingly much larger than he, but it is his home and he delights in all of it (in a hummingbird sort of way).

Jesus teaches about how we should not be anxious and how valuable we are in his creation. I fully believe this, although it’s not so easy to live that knowingly every day.

My little hummingbird, whom I see when I have coffee in the morning or lift my eyes from the pages of a book, has recently become a healthy reminder of many things: Of the beauty of creation. Of our innocence in the eyes of God, as we are like small children who are easily distracted. That those wings beating so fast they are a blur, are testimony to the many things we cannot see clearly but have a sense of what is possible.

And, so, my heart tends to soften and I am more aware of the countless things I cannot control and was never meant to control. I am reminded of the domain over which I may act with some influence … and that is mostly over my own behavior, with the hope that I can learn to love God more and more and love those with whom I come into contact each day.

God’s creation and the incomparable 2020. We are eternal beings, however it plays out. As tough as 2020 is and with the unknown before us, I’m supremely thankful that God told me fifteen years ago that it was time to come Home. Thankfully, also, I will never have to leave.