a lesson in stability

"If a bird abandons the eggs she has been sitting on, she prevents them from hatching, and in the same way monks or nuns will grow cold and their faith will perish if they go around from one place to another." -- Amma Syncletica

I used to be deathly afraid of buying a house. Of having a fence and a two-car garage. I saw the feigned satisfaction of my fellow society with their fences and two-car garages and accruement of "things you must have" in order to be considered as a stable, responsible person. Stable and responsible. It was (and still is) really confusing. Who doesn't want to be considered as stable and responsible? I did. And I still do. But what happens when such words carry so much weight with my identity, and I observe other people who describe themselves as such, and I want nothing to do with them? Or at least their idea of responsibility and stability. They looked frazzled and exhausted, making sure everyone around them knew that they were responsible and stable. I don't know, that sounded like a lot of work and worry about what others thought of them. No thank you.

Now I still wrestle with swinging to the other side. The side where pride and my own ego says well, at least you're not like them. You're unique and different, with your own ideas. Ha! What a joke my ego is. And I must confess it every day. And then die to it. I was still trying to control how others saw me and how I presented myself to the world. Little did I know that my so-called freedom was still controlling me, keeping me fixed in the past with nothing new happening. No change. Just repetition. Richard Rohr, a favorite theologian of mine says in his book Everything Belongs:

The nature of the ego is that it tries to fix, name, control, and insure all our experience. But that fixes us in the past. What was, is, so we are trapped in repeating it and nothing new happens. The religious version of egocentricity is wanting to be right and wanting to be in control. To give that up is major surgery. Religion might call it major conversion: "unless a grain of wheat dies, it remains just a grain of wheat."

Sometimes we say things so matter-of-factly we forget how actually painful it is. The "death of the ego" can be heart and gut-wrenching. After all, a lot of who we are, our identity is wrapped up in this very ego. A lot of our relationships circle around it. It's a scary thing to die to it. We lose friendships, spouses, boyfriends and girlfriends, and jobs. And yet, as Richard Rohr is quoting Jesus, it is the only way to life. The giving up of our control, our eternal need to fix is "major surgery" -- which certainly suggests that we rarely, if ever volunteer for it. 

The miracle is in the shedding of that false idea of stability. In turn, a new life-giving stability takes root. I discover that it is for me. It has only good things for me. And not only that, it is for the betterment of others. My neighbors, my community. It is for the great-equalizing of all peoples. "It" sounds a lot like Jesus. 

There is a book called The Wisdom of Stability by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. It is small in it's size but heavy in it's content. Ben and I read it along with some friends from our church every Sunday afternoon. We quickly learned that it was not to be taken lightly. One of the toughest things to learn, Jonathan writes, is the discernment of when to go and when to stay. In a culture that is constantly moving, it is all too easy to pack up my bags and move. But what would happen if I were to stay? If I didn't easily leave? Theologian and Benedictine oblate Gerald Schlabach notes wisely that "we should expect authentic stability to nurture the virtues that allow Christians to become mobile in the best of ways--ready to hear the Abrahamic call, to live among the poor by both giving and receiving hospitality, and thus to nurture the newly deepened commitments by which God's people make Christ present in new communities and cultures." So the fact that I own a house now is no longer a burden of "keeping up appearances" but rather, a gift to share with the other. I had no idea that Habitat for Humanity, one of the main sources we used in restoring this house, was born out of this deeply rooted stability. Jonathan writes:

Indeed, we might even go so far as to say that true Christian mission is not possible until we have established roots of love through the practice of stability. We need not look long at the history of Christian mission to see how easily it has been co-opted by greed, colonial interests, paternalism, and violence. Maybe non of us are safe to respond to God's call until we've stayed put long enough to face our demons. But if stability's true aim is growth in the love of Christ, our practice of it will naturally move us beyond our own peace and security. Stability begins to bear its true fruit when we become a blessing to others. It is no accident that the small interracial community at Koinonia Farm that practiced stability against all odds through the fifties and sixties eventually gave birth to Habitat for Humanity, an international ministry that has, to date, built over 300,000 homes, providing safe and affordable housing to 1.5 million people in over 3,000 communities. Clarence Jordan could not have foreseen such an impact when he refused to flee from the violence and economic boycott of the Ku Klux Klan. But it may also be the case that a project like Habitat could never have been imagined without the faith that is born when we learn not to flee in the time of trouble.

I am looking forward to the day when my roots are deep and my branches have grown in strength. As with a tree and it's drip line, the deeper the roots, the further it's branches reach. And the stronger the tree. 

I'm tired of trying to figure out if "God has called me" here or there. Really, it all sounds so individualistic. So focused on what lesson I'm supposed to learn to take to the next place. I think God can still change us if we stay in one place. So I guess it's not so bad owning a house. People can think what they want, but if you've listened to our story, you'll know that's it's no facade. These houses and fences are temporal anyway. And for now, they can be used for good. So maybe I'll stay put and see how I can grow.