“A Question to Live”
Genesis 1:1-5, Mark 1:4-11
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
January 5, 2015
I found it on Facebook. Or perhaps, more accurately, it found me. In fact, it poked and prodded me, appearing and reappearing in my newsfeed, posted by at least ten of my closest Facebook friends, including the United Church of Christ’s National Office. Finally, I gave in and clicked on the link.
“It” was a New Year’s Eve blogpost by Parker Palmer, Quaker writer and educator and founder of the Center for Courage and Renewal. His post, entitled “Five Questions for Crossing the Threshold,” begins with a poem by Anne Hillman, a writer and retreat leader.
She writes:
We look with uncertainty
beyond the old choices for
clear-cut answers
to a softer, more permeable aliveness
which is every moment
at the brink of death;
for something new is being born in us
if we but let it.
We stand at a new doorway,
awaiting that which comes…
daring to be human creatures,
vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love.
The blogpost goes on to reference a quotation by another writer, Rainer Maria Rilke, from his “Letter to a Young Poet.” Rilke writes:
…I want to beg you, as much as I can, dear sir, to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
Having quoted these two authors, Parker Palmer, in his blogpost, invites us to take a fresh approach to the dawning of a new year. He acknowledges the practice of making New Year’s resolutions, trying to make changes in our lives. And then he announces this year, he is going to try to follow Rilke’s advice and live the questions instead.
It’s an intriguing approach to the New Year. Palmer proposes an alternative to that downward spiral we so often experience in January: a burst of will-power followed by an experience of failure that leads to a sense of despair. Palmer invites us to try something that seems the very antithesis of a resolution—living a question and trusting that the answer will ultimately emerge.
This blogpost was written for New Year’s Eve; when I read it again this week I realized it is equally relevant for today when we read the story of Jesus’ baptism.
John the Baptist calls the people to repent, to turn their lives around and make a drastic change. He is not calling them, though, to make a resolution. He is not telling them to take charge of their lives through an act of willpower. Instead, he challenges them to let go of control. He urges them to walk into the muddy water, knowing they cannot see where their feet are going. He asks them to trust him–to allow themselves to be dunked underwater by a strange man with wild hair. Even more, he asks them to trust that they will emerge from the water changed, without knowing what that change will be. He invites them into the mystery of transformation.
Jesus hears John the Baptist’s call and he responds. He walks into the water, knowing he is walking into something beyond his understanding. He puts himself at the mercy of his eccentric cousin, at the mercy of unpredictable river currents. When he comes up, he hears a voice speaking words that raise more questions than they answer.
It is no accident that the story of Jesus’ baptism is paired today with the story of creation. The first chapter of Genesis imagines the very beginning of time, even as it suggests the presence of a creative energy that is eternal, always at work. Creation is not a one-time event. When John the Baptist calls the people to be baptized, he calls them to open themselves to God’s creative spirit in them, making them new. When Jesus enters the water, the Spirit—ruah—descends upon the water, in the same way the wind—ruah—from God sweeps over the water in the Genesis creation story. In Jesus, there is a new creation.
As we tell the story of Jesus’ baptism, we are invited to enter into the waters of creation and re-creation, to allow ourselves to be made new—not by force of our own will-power, but by letting go of control. We are made new as we let go of certainty and our need for answers, as we allow the questions to live in and through us. To live the questions is to trust that God’s creative spirit is at work in times of uncertainty as well as in times of clarity.
So what are the questions we are called to live? Parker Palmer articulates five that emerged for him as he sat with Anne Hillman’s poem. I’m not sure I can give attention to living five questions at once; one seems like a good number for getting started. Palmer’s questions, though too many, may point the way toward the one question you or I feel called to live. As I share his questions, I invite you to listen for the one that speaks to you. Or perhaps one of his questions inspires you to create your own.
The first question is drawn from the beginning of Anne Hillman’s poem: “We look with uncertainty beyond the old choices for clear-cut answers to a softer, more permeable aliveness…” Palmer asks, “How can I let go of my need for fixed answers in favor of aliveness?” This question invites us to explore the ways we shut ourselves off from the fullness of life in our quest for certainty and clarity. The very asking of the question begins to open us to a new aliveness, for when we ask the question we honor that there is more to life than answers.
The second question comes from a later line in the poem: “We stand at a new doorway, awaiting that which comes, daring to be human creatures…” In response, Palmer asks himself, “What is my next challenge in daring to be human?” It’s an interesting twist on what is means to be daring. Courage here is not about finding superhuman strength; it’s about honoring that complicated mix of strength and weakness that is being human. We have incredible potential and also very real limitations. We are creatures and yet we are blessed with the gift of creativity. Our lives are short–fleeting even, and what we do matters. To dare to be human is to acknowledge the mistakes we have made and the mistakes we will make, to forgive ourselves and one another, to celebrate imperfect love as holy love.
The next phrase in the poem, “vulnerable to the beauty of existence,” shapes Palmer’s third question. “How can I open myself to the beauty of nature and human nature?” I love the notion that to appreciate beauty we must make ourselves vulnerable. I also love the invitation to be open to the beauty of nature—God’s creation in and around us—and also specifically human nature—God’s creation which is us. Sometimes it’s easier to seek beauty in the woods than in ourselves. This question invites us to seek both.
“Learning to love,” is the final line of the poem. Palmer asks: “Who or what do I need to learn to love next? And next? And next?” Love isn’t something you have or don’t have. Love is lifelong process of learning and growing. Everyone has a “love frontier”—an edge beyond which love requires hard work, someone we find hard to love. Everyone also has the capacity to expand that frontier, to learn to love that person we never thought we could. And when we do, we will discover a new frontier, another person to learn to love.
Parker Palmer’s final question refers back to the very center of Hillman’s poem: “for something new is being born in us if we but let it.” The question: “What is the new creation that wants to be born in and through me?” It is the culmination of all the questions that go before it, for as we live the questions we allow that something new to emerge.
Five questions. Which one yearns to be lived in you?
- How can I let go of my need for fixed answers in favor of aliveness?
- What is my next challenge in daring to be human?
- How can I open myself to the beauty of nature and human nature?
- Who or what do I need to learn to love next? And next? And next?
- What is the new creation that wants to be born in and through me?
Pick one of the questions—or create your own—and let it be your river of baptism, your river of new creation. Wade into your question, even if you can’t see where your feet will step. Don’t worry about the answer, just let the current flow around and through you. Dare to dive under, letting the question immerse you. Trust that the answer will emerge and you will emerge, a new creation. Amen.