For days afterward, I couldn’t get Mark out of my head.
He took a room at Holy Cross Monastery during my last retreat—and he scared me. Well over six feet, chiseled, imposing, with a hard look in his eye, he never ate, rarely slept, and wandered the halls muttering to himself. The first time he started a conversation with me, he came out with a ramble of spiritual ideas and cited Satan as his teacher for at least one of them.
I assumed he was dangerous, or at least sinister. I thanked God I was not like him. And that was the problem.
Mark’s presence, together with some other guests who were “different” in their own way, made me realize how quickly I rush to judgment. I compare myself to others, disdaining many, including those who fly off the end of my approach/avoidance curve.
The funny part is, I think of myself as open-minded and compassionate, especially to those less fortunate. In much of my life, perhaps I am.
But God keeps pushing us, confronting us with the raw reality both within and outside ourselves. Exactly how wide can I throw my tent? I say I accept all people—but what about him? “The poor,” whom I can so easily romanticize, may not always look noble or dignified; can I deal?
The beauty of this Divine push, at least as I’ve experienced it, is that it is phenomenally gentle—and sometimes comes with visible grace. The last morning of my retreat, I was out on the porch, turning these things over in my mind, when who should come out but Mark. He started a conversation with his version of “hello”: “Have you ever read…?” For about 15 minutes, he rambled on about Jesus, monks, Hindu demons, and other topics. He revealed pieces of his hard and painful life.
And finally, when I got up to leave, he shook my hand, thanked me, and apologized for “laying all this stuff on you.”
The day before, the thought of that conversation would have made me queasy. When it happened, though, it was all blessing. It left me with a glimpse into my own raw heart, a tent that maybe got a little bit bigger, and another story of the extraordinary, awe-inspiring grace of God, who pushes and pulls and encourages and loves and throws challenges in our way so we take that next step toward the Divine.
2 comments:
I want to know more about Mark! How did he challenge your beliefs? What was he talking about? How did you respond? How did your feelings about him morph from fear and repulsion to understanding? He sounds awesome. Another story for your book!
I think the morphing happened in two related moments: my reflection about my own attitude (which, I think, prepared my heart for a more understanding approach) and then Mark's appearance on the porch (which allowed me to practice that new approach). Both were moments of sheer grace.
It's hard to tell what he was talking about, but essentially he challenged not so much my beliefs as my self-image. Maybe I'm open-minded in general, but just by his presence, Mark made it clear to me that I still have a ways to go in that department.
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