When the Waters Stir, When They Don't, and When There's Nothing To Be Done

The Nature of Disappointment and Living in Spite of It

(This is still a work in progress, but, if you haven't noticed, I've taken a break from it. I've combined the completed posts into one, with great intention to finish it all soon.)

Day-by-Day and With Each Passing Moment
Maria died yesterday, at least one day too soon. Her birthday party – moved up a couple of weeks by an encouraging but expectant family – was to have been today, but a too-soon rattle in her struggle meant her deathday would come first. I wonder if she was disappointed.

I didn’t know Maria very well, even though we worked in the same building for four years and, yes, even though I had once been her teacher. Ethics, I think it was. I remember she got an ‘A’; I should have known more about her than that. I do know she wrestled with her illness for a long time, long enough, I’m sure, to fear each and every change of her body, to face the questions of purpose we all face, and to tire of looking in the mirror of the universe.

Many will attend Maria’s funeral; I won’t be among them. Too busy, I guess. Before you condemn me, know that I can’t be there. I’m away on business (be sure not to pronounce it busy-ness, by the way), the modern excuse for cowardly caring too much or too little to change a changeable schedule, a schedule that a situationally-important someone/something you pretend to care about has intimidated you into believing is more important than some unconditionally-important someone/something you genuinely care about and for whom/ for which you would change the world IF the world was just, well, changeable. (OK, now you can condemn me.) But, I don’t have to go really; I’ve seen plenty of coffins, corpses and green canopies beneath which denial-induced, mortal coil-shufflers still wince at the Styx-stench recently revived in their nostrils. Funerals prompt gazes by those left at the bank, not by the one who just cast off. And, to be downright blunt, funerals are for the dying, not the dead . . . and right now I desire to be among neither.

You see, I’ve known I’ve been dying for some time now. (Before those who know me pick up the phone, I’m relatively healthy and there are no immediate signs the caterer has been called to the church. . . . So read on.) As I tell my students, ‘you’re dying the moment you’re conceived.’ Well, it’s true, and a Truth that, in an existential sense, we each face every moment of every day. It’s also my contention – and the argument of this essay – that, if we do accept this Truth, then we can come to truly Live no matter the circumstances. If we don’t, then myopic and dizzied we walk a tight-rope through a Life-defying existence where the carnival’s lights cast shadows we’re quick to worship as Reality, where, by errant faith, we accept – even initiate – emotion-fueled rollercoaster rides that travel through our many layers of consciousness, and where hope is bought and sold along the midway by barkers ready to ease our every itch, pain, blemish, and amputation with sugar-coated placebos, extravagantly enticing yet cureless.

Your Turn, My Turn
Before I go on with this argument, I ask that you engage in an activity with me. Here’s how . . . First, consider one of your deepest disappointments in/of your life. Don’t go on beyond reading before you do this, OK? . . . . . . . Got it? Now, write it out. Putting things in words through the inherent logic of language forces us to explain what was once just an unarticulated idea, impression or emotion, and sometimes we have to do that, not for others, but for ourselves. . . . . Now do you have it? Great, and thanks! (If you don’t, guilt should have set in by now.)

Here are responses from some friends to this same question:

• I regret not making the time in which I asked my wife to marry me/our engagement much more special than I did. I don't know why, but I wasn't very intentional and I just wasn't the man I should have been. I would say, so far in life, that is my deepest disappointment.
• I'd have to say my parents' divorce was the deepest disappointment I've experienced. Even when you're a teenager, you can't possible understand the why's of it.
• My mother's self-centered life style destroyed two of her marriages, and kept her from establishing relationships with her grandchildren.
• My failed business some years ago.
• The death of my daughter . . .

Now, the second part to this activity: In the same way, articulate an immediate concern of yours. Whatever it is, write it down so, again, you have to explain it and, in fact, physically see it in front of you. . . . . . Ready? From the same friends who gave me the above responses, here are their immediate concerns:

• My most recent issue of great concern was when a friend of mine texted me that he was getting married after just breaking up with his girl. He and his girl had broken up a few times and just had a lot of stuff to work through (his words, not mine). So I was very concerned and felt burdened for them. I'm glad to say everything worked out awesomely and my concerns were un-needed. It was one of those times I'm SO glad I was wrong.
• I guess my greatest concern is financial. Never enough, it seems.
• Hoping my children make good life choices.
• My car is on the fritz AGAIN.
• Grad school is a bummer right now. I think it’s because I’m just not into it nor know why I’m here really.
  

OK, let me give you mine. Among my deepest of disappointments is the one I’ve wrestled with for a year and a half – my not being selected as chancellor of the college campus at which I’ve worked for 16 years. Sounds petty, doesn’t it? (Saying it out loud or writing it down sometimes does that, too, you know.) Petty or not, the decision – someone else’s, of course – that I wasn’t good enough for this important position hurt, plain and simple. I covered with statements like, “Oh, I knew I was the underdog” or “I always wanted the choice to be what was best for the campus.” My favorite, though, was the very ‘spiritual’ sounding “I left it to the Lord to decide,” which is really absurd and quite insightful, because, heck, I have absolutely no power, no inherent or bestowed authority to leave anything up to the Lord of the universe. Obviously, He does as He pleases, not as I give Him permission to do. Nevertheless, the disappointment was there, drilling into the core of my being.

My most pronounced immediate concern surrounds me daily and reminds me that I am, in the long run, most powerless, most human. From a combination of a ‘changing them’ and a ‘changing me,’ a new life-shadow has emerged as our children grow to the point of adulthood. It’s not that I’m no longer their ‘hero’ who brings home important stuff to a rousing chorus of ‘Hurray, Daddy brought home toilet paper!’ No, it’s more like I’m no longer the one who can protect them from the big, bad world out there. I had convinced myself that I could do that when we would huddle in our castle-home and eat home-made pizza, watch a stupid movie that would make us all laugh, scarf down ice cream and brownies, and, encircling like wagon trains of old, hold hands to thank the Lord for His protection and blessings before we headed off to bed. Well, with the oldest gone and his three siblings in the wings awaiting their cue in a play written for a much larger stage, I have a diminishing role as their co-producer/director. They don’t know their parts exactly, but they’re getting it. I believe the Playwright is pleased, though. Still, something deep stirs within me while watching this life-play unfold, and I can’t help but shudder at its impending impact once the final curtain falls.

Disappointment Always Comes in Fours
Tell me (please!) if I’m wrong, but it seems to me that disappointment – as seen in our examples and, perhaps arguably in all other experiences of it – comes in four different flavors:

· Disappointment with others,
· Disappointment with the world,
· Disappointment with ourselves, and
· Disappointment with God.

Let’s briefly look at each of these through an example from Christ’s life and ministry, as portrayed in four fictional, first-person narratives based on Scripture. (By the way, maybe you ought to read the real Scripture before you gulp down my take on these events.)

Disappointment With Others . . . John 4:4-42
He was sitting there when I arrived. Just sitting; no jar, no cup. Just sitting as if someone had told him I would be there soon and he had decided to wait. I’d never seen him before in my life.

I placed my things at the well on the side opposite him. That’s when he spoke. Although I was startled, I couldn’t dare react. I didn’t look up, but stared into the deep darkness of the well and went about dipping water into the vessel I’d brought with me.

Please don’t say anything else, I thought. Please don’t. He did, of course, and asked me for a drink of water. What man would ask such a thing of me, a woman? He knows the law? What does he really want? . . . I hate men like that; I think I may hate all men. Husbands or not, they come promising me their selfless love while secretly hoping, expecting that I, in my perceived nothingness, will sacrificially permit them to use all of me that’s not already a marketplace bargain to satisfy their lustful, selfish whims.

He asked again for the water, speaking quietly as he did at first but with a quality quite different than any man I’d ever met. He was calm, not demanding as most would have been when repeating a command. I looked at him this time. His face was tanned, bearded, and worn from the wind and sun. He looked old, yet youthfulness played about his eyes and smile.

“Why do you speak to me?" I mutedly muttered just above my breath while turning my eyes from his so not to linger there too long. “I’m a Samaritan.” I had hoped he would leave when I told him that; you know, just in case he didn’t recognize me as such. I have to be careful, you see. I’ve been spat upon, whipped, and stoned by Jews, only to be nearly beat to death by the men in my own village and, yes, even by their women, for bringing the Jews too close to our homes. No place is safe when enemies live even at home.

The man didn’t leave as I expected, but asked me if I would take what he called ‘living water.’ Only once – when I was a child and first bound as a servant – have I tasted of such water, so cool and clean. Living where I do, I’ve never tasted any so pure since.

“Where do you have such water?” I asked. “You don’t even have anything to draw with.” He said his father could give me such water. Ah . . . now I understood. I wanted to spit in his face and shout at him so God, Satan, and the whole of heaven could hear my sufferings at the hands of men such as this: “Your devilry rises too clearly in your words, you hypocrite!” I only said it in my heart, of course; I turned away to leave.

He spoke again in that way, though, that . . . well, that way that somehow deflected my hate. He repeated his offer of this special water, saying something about it becoming a spring within me and that I’d never thirst again.

Taking a chance that maybe this man was nothing more than just a traveling magician, I decided to stay and hear him out. Besides, if he gave me this water, then this might just be the last day I have to carry this jug around. Who knows? I’ve heard tell of miracles being done in the villages to the south. I think I deserve one.

I told him I’d take some of his water, and that’s when he asked me to call my husband. I looked at him for a long time, too long for a woman to look at a man who’s not her lover, let alone a Jew. I gave no reply, cold or otherwise. Miracle-man or not, I didn’t care for his question. I may be nothing to look at anymore, useful for little more than gathering water, and of no value to a world that readily took all I could give it . . . but . . . but why does he ask this?

“I have no husband,” I admitted.

He saw me turning to leave again and spoke, telling me . . . something I already knew all too well . . . telling me that, in fact, I have had five husbands and that the man I’m with now is not one of them. How did he know that? What kind of a trap is this?

My mind raced with the possibilities and dangers, yet I couldn’t throw off the fact that his words were not condemning. For what seemed like eternity his eyes focused on me in a . . . in a way . . . well, a way like my father would look at me long ago . . . A look that said, ‘Oh, my precious, so very precious daughter.’ It was a stare of compassion, of unconditional acceptance . . . of love that only wanted to give, not take.

I began to weep before him, with all the hatred, bitterness, and disappointment gushing from the empty well deep within me. Then, without hesitating, this man, this Jew, took my hand in his and told me the most unbelievable news, news that I so wanted to believe: He softly but firmly whispered to me that He was the Son of Man, the Christ, who had come to the world . . . yes, come even to me, this whoring, female half-breed. Falling to my knees in front of Him, I sobbed out of joy and clutched His enrobed feet. Light seemed to pulsate within me, illuminating every life-blackened hole within, and, as He promised, a spring of joy, of Living water, filled me, even to overflowing. I laughed, cried and shouted all at the same time.

From somewhere behind me, I heard men’s voices coming toward us. A group of men, all Jews, surrounded us. They looked at me, surprise in their eyes as they surveyed the situation, but said nothing. My smile reflected in His eyes as I unashamedly looked on Him with a love I had, until then, never known. Rising from His feet, I kissed His hand only to taste my tears that had fallen there, and then, taking my jar in my arms, I left with it empty but my heart full and splashing around me as I ran all the way into town. I had to tell them – all of them – about this man, and how He – the Messiah – took my every disappointment by rescuing me from my meaninglessness and restoring my humanity, all so that I might truly Live.


Disappointment With the World . . . Mark 5:35-43

-Mom. Psst, Mom. . . . Mother, wake up.
“Wha? Oh, you’re ready.”
-Yeah.
“Got all you need?”
-I think so.
“You’re sure about this? It’s a long way to go for probably nothing.”
-We’ve been through this. Yes, I’m sure. More than sure.
“OK. I just want you to be realistic, you know.”
-I know you do. I love you . . .
“Lock the door when you leave, OK?”
-Sure.

. . . OK, what else? I’ve got bread, clothes, a bit of money . . . oh, and my rags. I’d better take care of that now. Oh, God, let this be the last time I have to do this. Please, please. I’m so very, very tired of dealing with this, with all of the washing, with . . . with being unclean and everyone knowing it. Tired. Just very, very tired . . .

There. All’s in place. Just let me make it there, God. Please let the rags hold it all. I can’t let it show or they’ll notice and they won’t let me get close . . . I can’t worry about that now, though. God, be with me. I’m scared to death, but I know . . . I know this will work. . . .

It’s so dark this morning. No moon; that’s good, though. No one who’s up right now – if there is anyone at this time of day – will be able to recognize me or, hopefully, to see from which house I left. I can walk awhile, too, without anyone coming around. The less time I have with someone the less likely I’ll be found out. I guess that’s become my philosophy of life, hasn’t it?

The bread merchant said it was more than a half-day’s walk. Starting out now should put me there well before He goes through town. Plus, I can find a place to sit out of anyone’s sight. I hope the merchant’s right about Him being there. . . .

How long has it been? Seems forever. I guess I was about thirteen when I had my first period, but it wasn’t long after that when the blood wouldn’t stop. Strange how I was excited then about . . . well, about being a woman finally. . . . Ha, I remember how Mom instructed me about the ashes, about washing my clothes and the rags, and how I actually thought it so grownup, so womanly, so blessed to have the potential that lay within me. I knew I wanted to marry and have my first baby soon. I couldn’t wait . . . It’s been twelve years, hasn’t it? Twelve long years . . . What was that?

-Who’s there? I can’t see you; who’s out there?
“Don’t be scared. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
-Who are you?
“My name’s Jairus? What’s yours?”
-Uh . . . Mary.
“What causes you to be out so early this morning, Mary?”
-I need to see someone in the city.
“Me, too. I wanted to get there early so not to miss Him. Do you mind if I walk with you?”
-No, I don’t mind . . . for now, I guess.
“Where are you from?”
-Close by. Just down the road . . . a ways, actually.
“Oh. Your husband is not with you?”
-I am alone. I live with my mother . . . You are of some position, then?
“Why, yes, I’m a ruler in the synagogue. How did you know?”
-I could tell from your clothes, is all.
“Yes, of course . . . Sorry about that; I . . . don’t wish to offend . . .”
-That’s OK. We can’t always help the situations we find ourselves in, can we?
“No, we can’t . . . no we can’t.”
-We can’t help a lot of things. Not our lot in life, not our fortune, not our health, not even what others may do around us or . . . to us . . . I’m the one to be sorry, now. I didn’t mean to ramble on.
“No, no, that’s OK. I need to talk in this way. I don’t have anyone to talk to, really. About these kind of things, you know. My world has little room for understanding. One’s forced to struggle alone. . . . Does my talk disturb you?”
-I’m not used to talking with people, either. I usually keep to my own.
“Why is that?”
-Oh, just because. I’ve been ill much of my life, and I don’t want to bother anyone, I guess.
“What kind of illness, may I ask?”
-It’s not important.
“Is there something I can do to help?”
-No! . . . I mean, no, I’m OK.
“I know of illness, too. Not my own, though. It’s my daughter. She’s very, very sick. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve prayed, fasted, had doctors come, sacrificed all, it seems, but she gets weaker by the hour now. I can’t bear to watch her just lay there and die . . . And, that’s why I’m going to the city. That’s why I have to meet a man I’ve heard about there. He’s special, they say. But . . . dangerous, too.”
-What do you mean?
“He’s different. New ideas, not all Jewish, if you know what I mean. He’s been causing a lot of problems in the area, or so the Pharisees are telling us. Still, I've heard from some in the village that He’s a miracle-worker. I want to see Him, just to see if . . .”
-I’ve heard of Him, too. I . . . I thought maybe I might try to see Him when he’s in the market. Someone told me He passes through there on occasion . . . Do you want Him to heal your daughter?
“Oh, I don’t know. I'm sure that sounds crazy, because I want so much for her to be well, but . . . but I don’t know what will await me when I return home. I can’t go against the Law or against those who enforce it, even though I’m one of them, but . . . if He can help my daughter, then I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks.”
-I understand all too . . .

Oh, God . . . oh, God, things don’t feel right anymore. My walking must be . . . I feel too much wetness, too much warmth . . . Please, God. Not now, not here, not with him here with me.

-. . . I need to stop awhile.
“I’ll stop with you.”
-No, that’s OK. You go on. I may need to rest for a time longer than you have to waste on me. I wouldn’t want to cause you to miss your appointment.
“I think I can stop a bit and be on time.”
-But, I need to be alone some . . .
“Oh, forgive me. I’m sorry . . . I forget sometimes. My wife and daughter know that I don’t think much, at times, about the needs of others, and, well . . .”
-It’s OK. But I need to go over there for awhile.

God, make him leave, please . . .

Oh, there’s so much blood here. I must be making it worse by walking so much. Why can’t this just go away? Stupid doctors! They know nothing. They’ve taken all our money, and given me only curses. Not even sympathy. ‘You must have done something wrong to have this happen,' they say. 'You need a priest not a doctor. What did you do to deserve this?’ Oh, God, for nearly half my life I’ve endured their ridicule while my very lifeblood leaves me with every pulse of my heart. I have no friends, no one, except my mother, and she thinks just like them at times. I’m too big of a disappointment for her to receive her complete love, I think. There’s always some sense of shame that hides in her. Some subtle disgust. . . . OK, I need to stop thinking like this. I can’t start doing that again. I'll only get worse . . .

I’m so glad I grabbed those extra few rags . . . seems I’ll need them. I have to bury these that I’ve used. I can’t risk them being found by someone . . . I wouldn’t want to cause them harm. . . . Here, this shallow trench will work; I’ll just cover them with dirt. That’s all I can do.

Well, the sun’s about to rise . . . . Help me, God.

“So what were you burying back there?”
-What?
“What did you find so necessary to cover with all that dirt?”
-You were watching me? How dare you?
“It’s my business to watch people, especially those with something to hide. Now what’s going on?”
-I have no reason to tell you anything.
“As a Jew, you do. Remember who I am.”
-I don’t care; none of you have ever tried to help me. No Jewish leader I've ever known cared about what I’ve been going through. No one! Now, leave me!
“Not until I go and see what you just buried.”
-No! Get away!
“This is what I must do, Mary . . . if that’s really your name.”
-If I tell you, will you promise to leave me alone? Will you?
“Yes. I’ll go my way . . . but, I still have obligations to uphold, and I'll see that they’re upheld wherever it is that you live.”
-My illness . . . my illness causes me to bleed, OK? And, what you saw me bury was some bloody rags.
“Lucky for you – and especially for me – that I didn’t touch you before now. Now, stand away. You know the law. You’re unclean, and you violated the law by not telling me. I’ll pray that God can have mercy on you. Go back home. You can NOT go to the city. I forbid it! If you were going to the city to see the great Teacher there, I'm sure He wouldn’t see you anyway.”
-I will . . .
“You will do as I command, is what you’ll do. I’m leaving you here, trusting you'll do as is expected. Count yourself lucky that I haven’t done more.”

Some man of compassion. Oh, I hope he can find a way to help his daughter, God, but . . . God, what a world I live in. I sometimes wonder . . . but I have no one to trust but you.

I best stay here for awhile; let him get out of sight . . . But I’m heading on, no matter what he and his cronies may do. I must go the rest of the way. I know I must . . . I hope it's not far.

. . . Ah, finally, the city. Thankfully, it’s still early in the day, so there’s not many around yet. Good. I need to find a spot out of sight for awhile, someplace I can see when He comes this way. IF, He comes this way, that is. Maybe there won’t be much of a crowd . . . I really don’t want to touch anyone if possible. God, forgive me if I do. Please understand my need. I want so to be healed. Oh, I want to meet this man, the one they call Yahshua. I know deep in my heart He’s a very special man. He must be of God, He must be. My heart, my yearnings tell me He is. Give me courage, God, to be able to do this. I’m scared of the crowd, scared of being found out, and scared that . . . that it's all a big scam and that what I'm feeling is just my overwhelming need to hope, my last hope. But, if He's really who I think He is, I’m also scared that He’ll find me out like Jairus did . . . and . . . and, He'll reject me and I’ll be eternally condemned unclean as my Life-blood streams out of me drop by drop by drop . . . Maybe mother was right . . .

Hey, what’s going on? There’s people running around the corner . . . I can’t see what's happening. Look at them all, though. Oh, God, if it’s Him, I’m in trouble. I won’t be able to see Him, let alone talk to Him. What am I going to do? I’ve got to get closer. I need to know if it’s Him.

I’ll go to the corner of that building and peek around. Maybe I can tell. Oh, rags, stay with me. I should have changed, but I fell asleep. I needed to sleep, but, oh, God, please keep me together. Just for a few minutes more. I’ve got to see Him. I’ve got to get closer . . .

. . . Wow! There are so many people! I’ve never seen anything like this. They’re all so excited, too. This must be Him. My heart says it is. I just know that’s Him; this is my time, my moment to encounter God Himself! Please, God, give me courage! Please! . . .

So, here goes . . . I can’t help but touch people or to keep them from bumping into me. I'm sorry. God forgive me. . . . Where is He? I can’t tell which one He is from here. The crowd’s pushing backward now toward me. He must be walking this way. Surely He’s in the middle there . . . somewhere. Where are you, Yahshua? Oh, God, my tears, my tears. I can’t keep them inside me anymore. So much pain. So much humiliation. So much disappointment with life and the world. Where are you, Yahshua? I need you . . .

Look! That must be Him! It’s got to be Him. He’s so wonderful . . . Everyone seems to love Him. There’s so many people, though. Oh, no, there’s that Jairus guy. He can’t see me, but . . . oh, I don’t care. I don’t care anymore about the Law or him or . . . let them do what they will. I’m here to be whole again not pass their tests . . . Oh, God, there’s no way I can get to Him. He can’t hear me if I call to Him. What am I going to do? What can I do? Show me a way, God. Show me a way, please . . . Look at all of those people just trying to touch Him. Surely, there’s never been a man like Him. . . .

. . . Maybe . . . maybe if I just touch His clothes . . . Maybe if I can just feel the hem of His garment. That may be my only chance, now. I just need to touch Him . . . my heart needs to meet Him. I can do that. God, open up the way . . . one step at a time . . . maybe if I get on my knees and reach up through those who stand in my way . . . yes, I think I can . . . here, here He comes! Here He comes! Uhhh, I can get there, I know I can . . . Please, Yahshua! Have mercy on me . . .

“Who touched me?”

(Next time we'll look at disappointment with ourselves through the life of a man who gave it all up for a legion of 'friends'.)