Quo vadis?
There is something in us that doesn’t like to be lost. We want to know where we are and, when we’ve wandered from the proverbial straight and narrow path, how to find our way home again. Becoming disoriented not only confuses us; it scares us. At such times we wonder if anything good can come of such experiences. The Bible seems to agree, telling a story of the "fall" – which I like to imagine as an act of original "disorientation" – near the beginning of the creation drama. Indeed, stories of getting lost are one of the classic patterns in literature and film, perhaps because of the archetypal depths of this fear. Think of Dante’s great epic, The Divine Comedy, or Milton’s Paradise Lost and Regained, or the film familiar to us all, the first of the "Indiana Jones" series: "Raiders of the Lost Arc." Or, to name another, Dan Brown’s contribution to fantasy fiction, The Da Vinci Code. All of these stories find their shape around a great loss, and an ensuing quest – whether for Beatrice, paradise, or the "ark of the covenant." Without the loss, there would be no story, no drama, no suspense, and finally no purpose.
Of course sometimes we’re lost and we don’t even know it, because we don’t really know where we’re going. A familiar episode from the classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland recounts such an experience. You will recall it, perhaps. The scene opens with the image of the grinning Cheshire-Cat sitting up in tree, as Alice wanders by. She has lost her way, and implores the wise feline for help:
Disorientation captures something of the predicament many of us find ourselves in as a progressive church. We’re not necessarily lost; we know where we are. But we don’t know where it is we want to go, and aren’t always sure what to tell others. For such churches as ours, the Cheshire-Cat’s advice is provocative. Where do we want to get to? Is it that realm where justice and mercy meet? Where light "shines out of darkness," as the apostle Paul puts it? Where we come to know something of the mystery that summons us to gratitude to God and generosity toward others? Will we get there if we try the same familiar things more earnestly, or try out new ones – but still without a clear sense of why, or toward what end? Probably not.
This wondering finds expression in the celebrated question Peter posed to Jesus: "Where are you going?" (Jn. 13. 36). In its Latin form, "Quo vadis?", it became part of a wider cultural vernacular when Sienkiewicz used it to name his 1895 novel, subtitled A Tale in the Time of Nero, which inspired at least five different films during the 20th century as well as episodes of the television series "ER" and "M*A*S*H". But is it our question – and, if not, how could it help us to find our way?
We do well to remember that discovering the centrality of such a question in our kind of goal-driven culture requires that we relinquish our control in the matter. "Mission" long meant not what we decided to do, but what we found God calling us – or "sending us forth" – to do. This may mean turning toward the wilderness where we surely will lose our way, where becoming lost is unavoidable – and, in any case, not always the worst thing. As the poet William Stafford once observed in his poem "A Course in Creative Writing":
Entering the wilderness requires losing our way, letting go of control, relinquishing the demand to grasp and even understand. It is about giving ourselves over to what Stafford goes on to call "a world. . .under the map," the one we can only know about when we abandon our attempts to order the world, our world, in manageable ways. It is about yielding to a deep beauty and goodness that underlies all that is – the "real Real," as a poet I know puts it – and finding there the path that leads us in the darkness and asks that we be light and salt and "the way" in our world. Even if it means first getting lost.
Of course sometimes we’re lost and we don’t even know it, because we don’t really know where we’re going. A familiar episode from the classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland recounts such an experience. You will recall it, perhaps. The scene opens with the image of the grinning Cheshire-Cat sitting up in tree, as Alice wanders by. She has lost her way, and implores the wise feline for help:
"Cheshire-Puss," she began, rather timidly . . . "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"There it is. If we don’t know where we’re going, we are indeed "lost," and it doesn’t matter much which way we go: we’re sure to get "somewhere," if only we "walk long enough"! Facing such a quandary, accurate maps won’t help us. Not even GPS devices will be of much use, since they can only tell us where we are and how we can get to some specified location. What they can’t do is tell us where we should go. That still depends upon our initiative and sense of purpose – or, in the old-fashioned language, our mission.
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don’t much care where –" said Alice.
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"–so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
Disorientation captures something of the predicament many of us find ourselves in as a progressive church. We’re not necessarily lost; we know where we are. But we don’t know where it is we want to go, and aren’t always sure what to tell others. For such churches as ours, the Cheshire-Cat’s advice is provocative. Where do we want to get to? Is it that realm where justice and mercy meet? Where light "shines out of darkness," as the apostle Paul puts it? Where we come to know something of the mystery that summons us to gratitude to God and generosity toward others? Will we get there if we try the same familiar things more earnestly, or try out new ones – but still without a clear sense of why, or toward what end? Probably not.
This wondering finds expression in the celebrated question Peter posed to Jesus: "Where are you going?" (Jn. 13. 36). In its Latin form, "Quo vadis?", it became part of a wider cultural vernacular when Sienkiewicz used it to name his 1895 novel, subtitled A Tale in the Time of Nero, which inspired at least five different films during the 20th century as well as episodes of the television series "ER" and "M*A*S*H". But is it our question – and, if not, how could it help us to find our way?
We do well to remember that discovering the centrality of such a question in our kind of goal-driven culture requires that we relinquish our control in the matter. "Mission" long meant not what we decided to do, but what we found God calling us – or "sending us forth" – to do. This may mean turning toward the wilderness where we surely will lose our way, where becoming lost is unavoidable – and, in any case, not always the worst thing. As the poet William Stafford once observed in his poem "A Course in Creative Writing":
They want a wilderness with a map –
but how about errors that give a new start? –
or leaves that are edging into the light? –
or the many places a road can’t find?
Entering the wilderness requires losing our way, letting go of control, relinquishing the demand to grasp and even understand. It is about giving ourselves over to what Stafford goes on to call "a world. . .under the map," the one we can only know about when we abandon our attempts to order the world, our world, in manageable ways. It is about yielding to a deep beauty and goodness that underlies all that is – the "real Real," as a poet I know puts it – and finding there the path that leads us in the darkness and asks that we be light and salt and "the way" in our world. Even if it means first getting lost.
Mark S. Burrows
Theologian-in-Residence at Old South Church (Boston) and
Professor of the History of Christianity at Andover Newton Theological School
posted by Andover Newton News at
11:11 AM
