I took a week off after school got out to decompress. It’s like my mind and heart are tightly wound, not as a ball of string, but as a ball of elastic. If you snip an outer piece of string, no big deal. If you snip an outer piece of elastic, get out of the way! A lot begins to happen all at once, but still it only gets you so far.
Decompression—you might call it unraveling—takes time and patience and stillness, none of which come very naturally after having been “on” for months on end. Before I taught full time, I would often take my vacation time in two week blocks because it seemed to take an entire week just to cut the elastic and release all that pent up tension; only then could I really relax, reflect, enjoy, bask in the quiet (during the first week, quiet is unnerving, uncomfortable and irritating—if you don’t know this, you will resort to “fixing” a problem which isn’t really a problem at all, but a healthy part of the solution).
We don’t do quiet well. We don’t do stillness well. So I want to look at some problems we often try to fix that aren’t really problems, but healthy parts of a solution that most people look right past. It’s not that they’re invisible, really, they’re just ignored.
Humility would be a great place to start. If you don’t see humility as a good thing, then the unraveling of your elastic ball, the “downward movement” of going there, is going to seem counter-productive. The root of humility is humus, the rich, dark soil produced by decomposed animal and plant matter. To be humble means to be of the earth, which is good because that’s how Genesis 2:7 says we were made: “then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.”
We tend to get ourselves into trouble when we neglect our “earthiness,” when we forget that we were formed from the soil of the earth. What leads us to awe, however, is the last half of the verse which says that God took this formed earth and breathed His life into it—we are matter and we are spirit.
Any understanding of life, meaning and purpose that doesn’t take both into account is fatally flawed. If we forget that we are “dust of the earth,” we find ourselves building towers in Babel and seeing ourselves as worthy of all praise, honor, power and authority (even when we don’t see ourselves this way individually, seeing all of humankind this way leads to just as much trouble, if not more). On the other hand, if we forget the breath of God that resides within us, we become mere animals; we lose any capacity for nobility, conscience, morality, compassion, or even love itself.
I want to talk more about humility next time, but I also want to leave room for a little of the quiet and stillness I alluded to earlier. Why not take a quiet moment right now? It need not be a whole evening, or even an hour—why not just five minutes? Don’t time it—let it turn into more if you want. But find a quiet place and just reflect on the humility and dignity of being a man or woman made from the dust of the earth and inspired by the breath of God.
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