Like water through a sieve
Like a phone beside the car seat
Like a ring down the grate.
It was there, then it’s gone
Is one or no color. The cyclopian monster with one skill who believes it translates across all aspects of life when it does the reverse. It blinds you. One color excludes all other colors and can be one thing. But all colors can be anything. Many eyes see many things from all different perspectives at once.
Humility is the coat of many colors. Humility allows you to wear the coat of many colors. You bow your knee to the world around you as a student, and the whole universe bends it’s knee toward you. When Joseph walked up to his brothers he might as well have said, "I had a dream. The meek shall inherit the earth."
It is the lowest. The servant king.
The slave prince. Which is closest to the highest. For they are the other side of the same door. The door of Being.
The meek is the center of the world.
Sampson lives in a mystery that he turns into a riddle. One that only he knows the answer to that is really no answer at all.
To leap from the top of the temple is to jump off the head of a sleeping God, commanding him to wake up and open his slumbering eyes and catch the jumper. It is to live as if I am the one awake in this world and my sleeping God must be aroused. But is God who is awake not me. His seven eyes never close and it is he who looks to protect my feet from stumbling over what my eyes cannot see, it is he that sends the angels to attend, not me. He both sees me and sees through me, though I can not see him. If I hear a voice deep as it is quiet, a voice from eternity, a voice that is not me; a voice that is anything but the flat voice of a future it could never see; commanding me to jump, I will.
He is too much light for the enlightened. Sitting under the electric hum of their fluorescent lights they shut the shade against his daylight so they can see the blackboard and say: “This cold light is better to see by. Write some more, Professor. Teach us about biology, teach us about theology, teach us why the sky is blue and the summer grass is so green it hurts.”
While the clouds roll by outside.
A true expeditionary casts off his old world completely because it actually tethers and holds him back from finding and embracing his new one. He burns the ships, he cuts the ties holding the life boats and watches them float away.
Even the very ideas he holds dear, he must separate from himself.
He can not bring anything with him because a true expeditionary is looking for his home.
I should have followed the footsteps into the wilderness long ago. But I didn’t, or wouldn’t. And a man who won’t bravely walk in the dark forest when a quiet voice says, “You must go in. The answers are only found inside;” will be dragged in by fate. The spirit inviting him—guiding him to the dark entrance, leading him to a choice beyond which all the answers are forever hidden or forever found—was simply trying to save the man from himself; merely trying to help him discover a faith that will one day save his world. One day, far from that choice, he will wander in a wilderness sadly wondering how it was he got there. Which means he wound up there involuntarily. Lost. Trapped. Which is truly tragic, for it is pitiful to see a man wail and complain that fate has stuck him in prison, but it is another thing altogether to see him wail and complain that fate has stuck him in Pittsburgh—a self-pitying, blind soul held somewhere against his will. For years, maybe forty, trapped in a wilderness he can’t even see, trapped by his own blindness, unable to serve anyone because he was served a life sentence. Eating bread alone. Surveying all his kingdoms from his high plateau, yet unable to descend the sheer cliff walls on every side. Jumping off temples and smashing onto stones, wondering why God’s angels don’t protect him; wondering why every choice after the one long ago at the edge of the forest ends in a bloody nose and a brick wall.
A man unwilling to walk into the wilderness, unwilling to follow the receding shape in the darkness, which is the receding back of his God, has already failed. He failed the trial by not even trying. He failed the entrance exam by never even entering. He doesn’t have to wonder “whom this day he has chosen to serve.” He already knows. He chose his master when he chose to pretend he didn’t hear any voice or see any dark forest. He heard the first question: “Young man, you must go in. True or false?”
And he gave his answer.
He doesn’t have to wonder, years later, who he really is the day the enemy shows up at his door. He is exactly the kind of man who waits until the enemy is at his door before answering tough questions and listening to his heart. He is exactly the kind of person who answered “false" on the first question. He lost. On that day he bends his knee to the enemy.
He chose his master without ever having the guts to confront him.
Because I never really understood whose I was, I never understood who I was.
"The meek shall inherit the earth,"
is a hilariously contradictory sentence.
Since a meek person is exactly the last person on earth you would expect to want it.
The meek person would most likely refuse the earth and say, “No thank you. I’m happy with the little patch of grass and sky I was given.”
So is it an arrogant statement by Christ—who humbled himself— or not?
It’s neither. It's a fact.
Jesus walking up to his brothers at their work in God’s kingdom--sent by his father to check them out and report back--saying, “The meek shall inherit the earth,” is much the same as Joseph walking up to his brothers and saying, “I had a revelation: a sheaf of wheat will rule the universe. The one who stands at the center is the brother of the sun and moon.”
A meek person is exactly not the one wringing their hands saying, “Oh good, oh good! I was hoping the earth was mine!” Or pointing their finger saying,”I knew it! I told you meekness was the way to glory!”
A meek person is the opposite. A meek person has everything because he wants nothing.