Sit Down

“What are your deepest fears?”

I vividly remember the answers I gave to my first boyfriend when he asked me this question. (Alas, I have no memory of his answers when I reciprocated the query; great listening there, Ruth.) Perhaps I remember them so distinctly because they surprised me. The first words out of my mouth were:

“Being wrong.”

Followed swiftly by:

“Not being loved.”

The more I reflect on it, however, the less surprising this particular combination of responses becomes. They’re related, you see: I’m afraid of not being loved as a result of being wrong—messing up—failing to provide the right answer. 

Further reflection has made these responses seem not only less surprising, but less unique. I am convinced that I am not alone in these fears. And, in an increasingly polarized society wherein giving the right answer has become an increasingly significant factor in whether or not one is (or, rather, feels) loved, it is also unsurprising that most humans are suffering some variation of deeply rooted anxiety.

Social media, in particular, seems to be enacting some futuristic dystopian battle epic, with new forts raised and new trenches drawn every day. Calls echo from every side—right, left, secular, sacred—proclaiming THE ONLY RIGHT WAY and demanding every follower suit up and fall in line. Dehumanization of “the other” (defined as anyone on the other side of whatever line one has chosen) is not only allowed, but mandated. If you haven’t found a hill to die on, you’re behind. 

Already wrong. 

Already in danger of being unloved.

As a youngest child who used to cry when her older siblings fought (no one was fighting with me; it was just them being angry at each other), and as an aspiring human with loved ones posted on just about every conceivable hill for every conceivable issue, this is all—understandably—deeply distressing. And, as I pondered the whole unholy mess recently, feeling the pressure to MAKE A STAND and grieving over the vitriolic word-missiles being hurled from all sides, I thought I heard a still, small voice from the middle of the melee:

“Sit down.”

So, I sat. 

I listened.

And I realized that, at this particular moment, being “right”—for me—means . . . not being so panic-obsessed over being right.

It means sitting—not just in my little trench, but in as many as will have me.

It means listening—to voices from as many sides as I can.

It means trying to look at everyone—even and ESPECIALLY those with whom I fervently disagree—through the eyes of Love. (By the grace of God alone; Kyrie, eleison.)

Now, I’m all about making stands. There’s a lot of fighting that MUST be done. Oppression and slavery and dehumanization are woven with horrifying pervasiveness into the roots of our very souls, and we all—individually and as a nation/species—need to lie down on the operating table and get them cut out. It’s a long, difficult operation. It’s gonna hurt like hell. 

For me, the first step of that operation isn’t to make a stand. It’s not to die on the hill. 

It’s to sit down, and listen—that, when I do speak, it will be with the voice of Love. (By the grace of God alone; Kyrie, eleison.)

Here are some of the voices that I have found most helpful in my listening: 

“In solitude we realize that nothing human is alien to us, that the roots of all conflict, war, injustice, cruelty, hatred, jealousy, and envy are deeply anchored in our own heart.” ~ Henri Nouwen, The Way of the Heart

“To die to one’s neighbor is this. To bear your own faults and not to pay attention to anyone else wondering whether they are good or bad. Do no harm to anyone, do not think anything bad in your heart towards anyone, do not scorn the man who does evil, do not put confidence in him who does wrong to his neighbor, do not rejoice with him who injures his neighbor . . . Do not have hostile feelings towards anyone and do not let dislike dominate your heart.” ~ Abba Moses, Sayings of the Desert Fathers (translated by Benedicta Ward; quoted in The Way of the Heart)

I recently finished the book A Beautiful Disaster: Finding Hope in the Midst of Brokenness by Marlena Graves, and her heart-message—including  this interview, which is about her new book, The Way Up Is Down—resonates deeply with me.

The Way Up Is Down – Zeitcast Interview with Marlena Graves

And, below, you’ll find the poem that came from the aforementioned pondering, if you like that sort of thing.

See you in the trenches, friends—any trench.

I’m listening.

Sit Down

I cannot see the mountains
Monoliths of presence faded to a dream
By the promise—or the memory—
Of a lingering summer storm.

“Draw your line.”—“Choose your hill.”—“Make your stand.”

Armies on the mountains
Range from certainty to certainty
Trading slogan volleys—burst, break, vanish
Like an empty thunder flash:

“Draw your line.”—“Choose your hill.”—“Make your stand.”

But I cannot see the mountains
Desertion from vying platitudes leads me
From trench to trench, listening to each story
Following Love’s voice to an open wasteland campfire:

“Cross the line. Leave the hill.

Sit down.”