Michael and His Boss

Michael and His Boss

Michael paced and fidgeted, waiting, as usual, to get his chance to give advice to the boss. And the boss needed advice, because the whole world was going to hell. In fact, a big part of the world was in hell already.  Why couldn’t he see that?

The big old wooden door opened, and Michael put on his game face. Not too aggressive…the boss didn’t like that. Not too…whatever! Michael shrugged his shoulders, admitting to himself, if no one else, that he had not gotten it right yet. Not the right combination of words and tone and emotion to move the guy to act like Michael knew he should. Knew he HAD to.

“Michael! How are you?” he said, coming forward to give Michael that hug that Michael always had to brace himself for. Not because he didn’t like the hug, but because it always drew him off- sides. Made him lose his focus and intent. 

“Fine, fine. And you?” Michael drew back from the hug, looking into his boss’ eyes to see what mood he might be in today. Bummer. He looked happy. The guy was delusional.

“I am good. And glad to hear you are well. What can I do for you, Michael?”

As if he didn’t know. As if Michael had not been pleading for the same thing now for way too long.  Michael shook his head, just a tiny shake. Took a deep breath. Took a chance on contact and put his hand on his boss’ forearm for emphasis.

“They are at it again. Only this time, I think is worse than ever. I can’t do anything with them, they surely won’t listen to me. You’re going to have to do something. They will listen to you if you go down there.” Michael went for the combo effect…sincere, urgent but not pushy.

“I know. You know, it breaks my heart. I have tried everything I can think of. Except…”

Michael interrupted, “You haven’t tried everything. You haven’t just gone down there and talked to them yourself. Unless you count that whole burning bush thing. Which, wasn’t quite the same thing as just showing up, you have to admit.”

His boss smiled, the memory settling on him. He chuckled. “Well, maybe not the exact right thing, but it seemed like a good idea back then. But anyway, this morn…”

Michael burst in again, “You keep sending people to tell them. It isn’t working! They either kill them or ignore them, or both! You have to do it yourself” Michael was warming to his subject. His pupils were dilated with ferver, and the hand on his boss’ arm was squeezing in passionate appeal.

His boss looked down at the gripping fingers and looked back into Michaels’ eyes. Michael let go with sudden frustration, stepping back and shaking his head. This was going to end like every other meeting. Nothing. Big fat nothing. He started to turn away.

“Michael, listen for a minute,” it wasn’t a request, “I am trying to tell you something. I have an idea, and I think you will like it. I think it might work.”

Michael stopped breathing. Progress. Something new. Something besides the same old sending of some poor guy who ends up dead, despised by the very people he trying to reach.

“What…what…” Michael leaned a little toward his boss, a little afraid to get up too much hope.

“I’ve decided to go down there myself. “

Michael jumped up, pumping his fist and doing a little jig. “I knew it! I knew you would fix it! You love them too much to let them keep on killing each other! I knew you would fix it!”

His boss was grinning now, watching Michael’s joyful reaction. He waited a minute for Michael to do a little shadow boxing of the enemy.

“Take that, evil! Take that, death! Take that you sorry excuse for human misery maker!” Michael kept it up for a minute, then curiosity sunk in.

“Where will you appear first? That could be a huge decision, you know. You have to get the powerful behind you first. Wait…what am thinking…you would have to if you were a human, but since you are God, once you go down there as yourself, the whole entire human race will fall on their knees before you!”

His boss nodded, pausing, “That’s just the thing, Michael. That is the very reason I can’t do it the way you are thinking. We’ve been over this a hundred times.”

Michael’s face fell. What was the catch? He turned and started pacing, reciting in a terse voice,

“You made them to be free. You can’t manipulate them. They have to live free from strings and obligation to you or they can’t be truly themselves. Yadda yadda yadda…”

His boss ignored this last disrespectful tirade.

“That is right, Michael. That never changes. If I love them, I am bound by all the laws of every moral code ever imagined to give them their freedom.”

“Well, what moral code do they live by, for crying out loud? How can you make it worse by stopping them from making such a dung heap of themselves and all of earth?” Michael was so deeply disappointed he forgot that there was still a plan that had not been tried before.

His boss sat down, motioning to the other easy chair beside him. “Michael. Sit. I am sorry it can’t be done your way. But I do have an idea. And I think it just might work. Sit here. I feel how much you love them. How much you grieve for them. You have to believe me when I tell you I feel those things as keenly as you.”

Michael sat, his arms on his knees, his head hanging. He let out a sigh, and raised his eyes to the face of this boss who he did love so much.

“I’m going down there. But they will think I’m a real human. I’ll live like they do, and the hope is that I’ll get the chance to teach them how to love each other. And themselves.”

“So…where will you appear first?”

“Well, if I’m going to do it right, I’m going to do the whole thing. I’ll be born, like them.”

“You have got to be kidding me? You, a baby? You will be so at their mercy, you’ll never make it to be old enough to teach them anything!” Michael let out another sigh. He loved his boss, but this was a bad idea.

“No, I think it will work. I have the mother picked out. She’s good. And the father is a good man. I’ll do the whole thing. I’ll be born, I’ll grow up, I’ll love my family. I’ll gather some followers and spread the news that love is for everyone. That no one is alone. That no life, and no death is beyond me.”

“So, you picked a queen? Who is it?”

“Well, not a queen. I picked a Jewish girl. Her name is Mary. You know, the Jews have messed up a lot, but they keep trying, and that’s where I want to go. Remember David? He has a descendent named Joseph who is engaged to Mary. It’s the perfect family.”

“Now I know you are kidding me! They are dirt poor! You will be lucky to get enough to eat, much less gain any influence at all with society!”

“That’s kind of my point, Michael. I want to do it the hardest way, so that there aren’t any people anywhere, ever, for the rest of time who think they aren’t good enough to live in love.”

Michael slowly shook his head. “I don’t think you know what you’re in for. I’ve been down there. It isn’t what you think. There is not much hope, and there isn’t much love either. And for sure, they have forgotten their promises to you.”

His boss nodded just as slowly, “ I do know, Michael. But I have not forgotten mine to them.”

The look on his boss’ face left no room for argument. In fact, the extreme fondness he felt for his creation shone on his face like a light. Michael felt a little bubble of hope under his breast bone for the first time in a very long time. This was crazy, but maybe crazy was just the right thing for this mess that was the human condition.

“Ok. So, let’s say you are going to go down there and show them how to love each other. Then what?”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see what they do with it. And with me.” He put his hand on Michael’s arm. “And I’m going to need your help. I know I said it the human way, but we’ll add just a touch of your ideas. See, we gotta get Mary on board, give the word to Joseph that he doesn’t need to worry, maybe tell some shepherds, and…let’s put a big star in the sky ahead of time to kind of point the way.”

“So, a star over Jerusalem?”

“Well, no. I’m going to be born in Bethlehem. Because that’s where David came from, and I’m going to do my darndest to fulfill some of the Hebrew prophecy. To give them hope. And to help them know who I am.”

Michael chuckled. “You have this all figured out. OK, we’ll try it your way. And pray. A lot!”

His boss grinned from ear to ear. “I knew I could count on you. Now, let’s get this thing rolling!”

 .

Little Feathers: Fear's Equal

Little Feathers: Fear's Equal: Fear keeps us from falling in the gorge. It keeps us from driving too fast (at least, it should). Fear keeps us aware of our mortality so th...

Fear's Equal

Fear keeps us from falling in the gorge. It keeps us from driving too fast (at least, it should). Fear keeps us aware of our mortality so that we can guard and treasure our bodies. That's the good fear.

Fear can also steal the joy of the day. Fear of getting cancer, fear of losing our worldly possessions, fear of losing our personal freedom, power, and discernment (whether to disease or politics), fear of losing people we love. But, no matter how we employ our knowledge and what wisdom we've garnered about the futility of worrying, fear can be the power over us that takes what time we've got and smashes is into a small thing that crumples under the enormity of horrible possibilities.

Which brings me to the gift I got last night. Up here in the mountains of New Mexico, far from the lights of cities or towns, the sky is a constant feast for the soul. And last night, before the moon rose, the stars were so bright and so close, they felt personal. Bob and I sat outside and could not stop staring at them. Blue ones, red ones, twinkling ones, steadily burning bright ones ( I do know they aren't all stars, but that's the name I give them). We had not been outside long when we both saw a huge shooting star. It streaked across the sky with a tail of light that was gone in a second. But it lingered in my heart the longest time. It didn't really make me want to see more so much as it made me want to remember it. Because it was fear's equal.

The cosmos is not merely humbling. For me, with the gift of those stars still shining in my mind this morning, the cosmos is liberating. Yes, we are microscopic in comparison. But we are not inconsequential. This gift of the sky, the heavens, the universe and beyond, this is proof that all will be well. No matter what happens to the stock market or the trade war or climate change, humans cannot do away with this vastness.

Part of my armor against the 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' (thanks, Will, that phrase has been in my mind since I first heard it as a child), part of my defense against the fear that steals, is this sky. Because I see the fingerprints of a creator whose passion for creating keeps my heart beating. Keeps me waking up knowing that love is the author of the stars, and that love is here now. A thing of hope, waiting to be borne and shared by the created.

I was wrong when I titled this blog. Because fear is not the equal of hope. Not when I remember the ancient truth, that I was created to love and be loved. The one who made the stars and the cells of my heart is here now. Saying, fear not.

Of Tricycles and Home

There's a poem called The World's Greatest Tricycle Rider, by C.K. Williams. The poem tells of a wildman inside, one who rides with no hands, upside, fearless. But the wildman is growing older, and the poet worries that because he has not shared his wisdom with the rider inside, the poor wildman is doomed to ride again and again around the same block.

Growing older is accompanied by so many clichés, it's comical. Is there any new thought under the sun about the losses of aging? When I read this poem for the first time this last week, it caused little lights in my brain to spark some new ideas. New to me, at any rate. 

What if clinging to the ways I've always been, the abilities I've always had, is actually holding me back from the progress I can make at this time in my life? What if grieving the loss of strength keeps me from trying something new that makes better use of my current state? What if I'm actually better at things I've not tried than at riding the tricycle around and around the block, my feet overshooting the pedals? And, what if there is great joy to be found in trying the new, joy that would mitigate the sense of loss?

They say (don't you love "them") you can't go home again. I understand that it is because time has changed us, even if time has skipped over the actual physical place we grew up. And time has taken away people we love who inhabited our home with us. So, what if we free ourselves from the need to do the impossible, and open our hearts to the home around us? What if we look for ways to make this older body our home, make this group of people our home?

This process of setting the child inside free to love this place and time is a conscious decision. It must be a journey of the spirit that makes this time of life as precious, as productive, as important to our souls as our youth. In a society that idolizes youth, it can seem counterintuitive. Allow ourselves to celebrate aging? To cherish the life left to us instead of longing for the power and beauty of our youth? It might take some work. It might take giving that wildman a two wheeler. But think how much more comfortable he will be with a bike that fits!

Little Feathers: A Bright Little Feather

Little Feathers: A Bright Little Feather: "Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the song without the words And never stops-at all-" I lov...

A Bright Little Feather

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the song without the words
And never stops-at all-"

I love this poem by Emily Dickinson. I remember my mom reading it to me when I was just a little girl. The image of a bird singing "a million songs without any words", as Patti Griffin says, is one that I can see in my mind's eye. The face on the notion of hope. Most birdsong is heard without ever seeing the singer. But when the singer perches in my soul and sings those songs without any words, I feel the solace coming straight from the creator.

There are so many things to worry about. Not just the ones "out there" in the big world, but worries for people I love. For friends and family facing illness and grief. For people whose jobs or children or spouse or parents are in trouble. For friends of friends whose losses or sudden challenges send me to my knees. But then the thing happens. Not immediately, because I can worry with the best of them. But then the gift is given. The songs.

Sometimes hope drifts into my awareness like that little feather in Forrest Gump. Just softly rising into the sky, swirling and lifting. Sometimes it's the birds that begin to sing just before the sun comes over the mountain when I'm here at the cabin. The forest behind us is filled with the little gift givers, and they are the sweetest alarm clock. A new day starts with their song.

Last night, hope came from another gift. When I lay awake worrying about everything and everyone, Bob reminded me that there was something else to focus on. All that we have to be grateful for. The beautiful people we were given to love. And that song, that one without any words, the one that perched in my soul and called itself hope, that song lulled me to sleep.

The bright little feather is the one that makes the dawn look beautiful. The one that makes the day seem possible. Emily's hope sang without any feathers. But mine is lined with the downy beauty of the creature who gets to fly, who sings so beautifully from a throat created for music. Hope. 

Thank You, Leonard!

Last night I saw Bernstein's Mass. Peter Bay and friends pulled out all the stops to mount this massive (pun intended) production. I was amazed and awed that Austin would have gotten behind this deep look at faith and hope. Because Austin seems more comfortable with being cool than being introspective. At least, that's my impression.

As the scenes devolved into chaos and anarchy, even the altar wasn't reserved for the sacred. Leonard was pushing our boundaries. Pushing, pushing, pushing to make us say how much is enough. What is of man, and what is of God? How much grief can a human take and still turn to hope, turn to God, turn to truth, turn to good? One thing I liked is that Bernstein stripped away all the props of religion, yelled at and cried out to God, and in the end was left with only the silence, and the small voice of hope singing a new song. A Psalm. Really quiet music from the throat of God.

What struck me again last night is that these times we live in forty some years later are part of the same picture, part of the same journey that America has been on since Kennedy was shot. And way before that. Like to the time of Cain and Able. We had a few years in there that made us think (some of us, because for some this is never the case) that we had come out of the social schisms and tears in the fabric of our society's identity, and that we had healed as a nation. But this grief we experience today at the hatred of one for another isn't new. Our clothes are different, but that's about it.

I know this is a theme I keep coming back to. And I'm not saying, "It's okay, it's been this bad before so we don't need to worry." I'm saying, we are still on this hard road of grief, and we still have choices to make about who we will be in the end. Thanks for the reminder, Leonard.