Thanks to LG for referring to Ferlinghetti’s poem “I Am Waiting” in his Epiphany sermon today. We Christians call Advent and Lent the “waiting seasons” but – considering the political anxieties of these days – this reference to “waiting for The Age of Anxiety to drop dead” seems especially timely.
Wonder is a feeling of amazement and inexplicable beauty but these days our wonder seems intrinsically tied to our anxiety:
- I wonder if our nation’s democracy can survive this current leadership.
- I wonder if the chemo will work.
- I wonder if the labor pains will be too much for me.
- I wonder if our relationship can endure this stress.
- I wonder if my job will be terminated.
I long for wonder that’s unrelated to anxiety. I long for the kind of wonder that actually reduces anxiety.
Growing older with a sense of wonder feels like a shot of resurrection. Children get this – at least if they feel secure and safe. They wonder about everything from fireflies to snowflakes to shark teeth to flower petals. Their brains are constantly absorbing new things to wonder about.
In the meantime, we adults are wondering about doom.
I wonder if one of the purposes of Church is to generate wonder. For a chunk of time each week we are asked to consider what God has done, is doing, will do. We might be moved to tears of joy by the music. We might imagine a new outcome for what’s happening in our lives right now.
Good therapy turns our anxiety on its head – eventually. Good spiritual direction shifts our anxiety to epiphanies of relief. Good Church sparks wonder in the Creator who’s got this. Good Church inspires us to take action in the name of an Active God. Good Church draws us into a community that doesn’t make sense in the eyes of the world.
How is our church community moving us to wonder?
We who find our anxiety melting away – in spite of all indications that life is a hot mess – might be called demented or clueless. But wonder is about faith. I don’t know what God’s going to do about this, but I believe God is at work in the world.
Maybe we have to believe this because without it our souls will die or our brains will explode. It’s a choice we make: to believe that God is still God and we are not.
And yes, we still wail. We still pray that America will spread its wings and fly right. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a generation from now. But still we hope. And when we have no hope we lean on each other to hope for us. This is Church.
A Church for Starving Artists 