“Arthur, you mustn’t
feel that I am rude when I say this.
You must remember that I have been away in strange and desert places,
sometimes quite alone, sometimes in a boat with nobody but God and the
whistling sea. Do you know, since
I have been back with people, I have felt like I was going mad? Not from the sea, but from the people
around me. A lot of the things
which you say, even seem to me to be needless: strange noises: empty. You know
what I mean. ‘How are you’–‘Do sit down’–‘What nice weather we are having!’
What does it matter? People talk
far too much. Where I have been, and where Galahad is, it is a waste of time to
have ‘manners.’ Manners are only needed between people, to keep their empty
affairs in working order. Manners maketh man, you know, not God. So you can
understand how Galahad may have seemed inhuman and mannerless, and so on, to
the people who were buzzing and clacking about him. He was far away in his
spirit, living on desert islands, in silence, with eternity.” (Once and Future
King, 460-461)
That passage is from the novel Once and Future
King, which I loved very much.
I’ve saved this passage for years. The book is a re-telling of the Arthurian
myth and in this scene it’s Percival speaking, after he and Galahad have come
back from the quest for the Holy Grail. It’s a sort of classic example of the
Hero’s Journey. I remember meeting a Jungian analyst once, and I was telling
her about some strong experiences I had been having of late, but how when I
tried to convey them or share them it either all came out flat or folks would
just kind of shrug and walk away. And she said to me something like; “You’ve
got to be very careful whom you share your experiences with when you’re on the
Hero’s Journey. If people aren’t ready to hear what you have to say, it will
ruin it for you, rob you of the experience.”
Some other examples of this could be, for
instance, after a retreat experience, that phenomenon of “coming down the
mountain,” sometimes literally! Or maybe in the throes of a conversion
experience, still caught up in the initial fervor and excitement, expecting
people to catch on fire just by talking to you. I’ve got a young friend who has
been on several months’ pilgrimage around Central and South America right now,
and I sent him this passage too. Or maybe it could just apply to our enthusiasm
for anything, our passion for social justice or environmental issues, or our
love for the liturgy or yoga or meditation or interfaith dialogue! Our
exuberance for life in general! How often does that get beaten out of us? And
sometimes it could simply be our own experience of the tender compassion of our
God that has gripped us, like the Good News that Jesus sent his disciples out
to proclaim on their Hero’s Journey. In the Gospel of Matthew chapter 10, he
tells his disciples first look for someone worthy. And if they really are
worthy, share it. If they’re not––no need to call down the fire from heaven on
them; if that’s what they deserve, apparently God will see to it. It’s one of
those rare instances where Jesus is all but calling down the fire and brimstone
of Sodom and Gomorrah. Actually, the harsh compassion that we hear in the
prophet Hosea 11 is better. (We read these two passages on the same day.) God
says instead, My heart is overwhelmed with pity. I will not give vent to my
blazing anger. No, we have to
have the strength to detach from the results and the fruits and not take it
personally; we’ve done our job and we walk on, guarding that treasure and
looking for a heart worthy to receive it. We have to accept the fact, sadly but
without recrimination, that sometimes people are simply not ready to hear what
we have to say or receive what we have to give.
And yet, if we’re patient with the journey and let
it gestate in us, it will not go to waste; it can become something in us. One
of the characteristic features of Jesus was his gratitude, his exuberance, his
joy and his awe, his appreciation of the mirabili Dei–the wonders of God, which he received freely and
from which he gave freely. Blessed are you Lord, God of heaven and earth! he says. And that awe becomes in him gratitude,
thanksgiving; and that thanksgiving in turn became in him power, the power to
walk on water, to heal the sick, drive out demons, raise the dead, to turn
bread and wine into his body and blood. That’s what we’re looking for––that
Eucharistic alchemy to happen in us, that wonder and that gratitude and
ultimately that energy to be at work in us, for our experience of the wonders
of God, the wonders of all creation, and the wonder that God made us, to turn
into gratitude, and that gratitude is like jet fuel, that gratitude turns into
power. That’s the energy of Eucharist, and that becomes our participation in
creation and building the reign of God, in ministry, in creativity, in prayer,
in community, in a heart broken with compassion for our world.
Let’s hope that the treasure would take root in
us, that the Word would dwell in us richly, that the peace of Christ would
control our hearts and become something in us, become the energy of the
Eucharist, the energy of participation and creation and that we would become
bearers of the Good News with hearts broken with compassion for our world.
