• Forbear

    In truth, those who are patient amid hardships and unjust treatment are fulfilling the Lord’s command: When struck on one cheek, they turn the other; when deprived of their coat, they offer their cloak also; when pressed into service for one mile, they go two [Matthew 5: 39-41].  (Rule of St. Benedict 7.42)

    If you had to pick the craziest-sounding command of Jesus, “turn the other cheek” might win the prize.  Second and third place go to offering extra goods to a thief and volunteering help to a bully.

    But each of these scenarios involves a strictly limited sacrifice.  You can walk two miles out of your way and still get home.  You can give up two items of clothing and still make a living.  A slap in the face is painful and insulting, but you can survive and go on.  In no way do these instructions imply that we should stick around forever to be defrauded, enslaved or murdered.

    No one has more than two cheeks, and the gospels don’t tell us what to do if, after getting a second chance, the attacker keeps on hitting.

    Still, there’s a concept here.  Like so many Christian concepts, a word exists for it in English but has fallen out of use.  The command is: forbear.

    Inherent in this word is the sense that the practice of its principle is hard.  The Old English prefix “for” intensifies the verb “to bear.”  It means to endure–specifically to suffer insult and injury while refraining from revenge.

    Who can do it?

    In fact some people in this world today are already enduring far more than Jesus asked.  They cannot bear up because they have been crushed.  Others are straining so hard against oppression that they expend all their strength just to keep their footing.

    It’s the rest of us who have choices to make.

    Sometimes you choose to walk away from friends who have sold out to trending evil.

    If you have the power to stop an injustice, to stand idle is not forbearance but collusion.  If you are responsible for other people, you must act in their best interest.  Forbearance ends where duty begins.  Sometimes duty requires that you act to oppose bad behavior.

    Nor can you forbear on behalf of someone else.  You bear up under your own suffering.  You don’t glibly offer up another person to endure something that you yourself don’t have to worry about.

    Forbearance is the restraint of strength, not the passive submission of weakness.  In order to forbear, you must first realize that you could hit back.  So think of a way to do it.

    Then, instead, attempt to negotiate a solution.  You hope that your example of restraint will give pause to the other person.  After all, people can behave badly without being bad people.  Perhaps they will reconsider and make an effort to do better.  Instead of escalating the conflict, you give them another chance.  You appeal to the good in them rather than fueling the bad.

    Or you may hold back out of concern for someone else who is innocent and who would suffer as a result of your action.  For the sake of the good person, you refrain from punishing the bad one.  This is the forbearance that God extends to the whole world every day, as he continues to sustain the existence of those who do wrong, for the sake of those who do right.

    There’s no privileged class of people who can bypass the righteousness of God.  He will hold each person accountable individually.  We can refrain from vengeance because he promises that he will establish justice in the end.

    So it’s not only for this world’s life that we struggle.  Yet we do struggle for life in this world.  We refrain from vengeance, but we also work for justice.  We manage to turn the other cheek, because we look over the shoulders of wicked people and see a new day dawning in which they have become irrelevant.

    Your own dwelling is the greenhouse of the seedlings of hope.  It’s at home that we learn to forbear.  When a boy has had his juice spilled by his little sister–the juice he was going to take to school, and now there’s none left–and (after the initial howl of dismay) he tells you not to be mad at her, it was just an accident, and even, “I’ll clean it up”–then rejoice and be glad, because heaven has conquered in that moment.

    Or perhaps a younger child destroys the possession of an older sibling.  This is where the older one learns what grace is.  Because restitution may be impossible.  The child must let go the attachment to the destroyed object and extend mercy to the incompetent other, who not only cannot compensate for the loss but is not even reliably going to refrain from doing the same thing again.  This is forbearance.  It is brotherly love.  A child who can forgive a brother or sister has come very far in the Christian life already.

    When children begin to intercede on behalf of their siblings, so that you won’t be angry at the brother or sister, then you know that you’re in the presence of saints.  They don’t think of themselves as saints.  But their behavior is no less holy.

    Forbearance is that moment when justice halts for the sake of peace.  Truth holds its tongue for the sake of love.  On a small scale, everyone regularly experiences something that feels unfair.  When everyone learns to forbear, you will have a happy home.

    Not wealthy homes but loving ones produce good people.

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  • Wholly Holy And Hale

    Do not aspire to be called holy before you really are, but first be holy that you may more truly be called so.  Live by God’s commandments every day. (Rule of St. Benedict 4. 62-63)

    Of all the archaic vocabulary words that have become vestigial, holy has to be the most vacuous.  We have no idea what it means, but we’re pretty sure we don’t want to go there.  It’s probably the Christian equivalent of a no fat, no sugar, no salt, gluten-free, vegan blueberry muffin.

    You try it.

    (They make it look like a blueberry muffin, but a deep human instinct tells you that it’s going to be a bad experience.)

    What we’ve heard about holiness is that there’s no money, sex or power in it.  It’s sinless and spiritual.

    Definitely go for it.

    Naturally there are people who want to be holy, just as there are people who try to make you eat their special muffins.  You pay attention to who they are, and you make a mental note to breakfast elsewhere next time.

    (Of course we’re still friends!)

    Although we don’t take the word “holy” seriously anymore in everyday speech, its cognate, “whole” is a workhorse we use all the time.  Whole and holy are linguistic twins, but over the course of nine hundred years, the version without the W specialized as a religious term, while the other one got a regular job and put food on the table.  At birth their meaning was: entire, unhurt, healthy, free of wound or injury.  Whole also originally meant “restored,” in the sense of having recovered from a wound or injury, being healed.

    As a matter of fact, the Old English parent word is still alive and kicking, pronunciation unchanged through the centuries.  It is “hale,” as in hale and hearty, free from defect, disease or infirmity, retaining exceptional health and vigor.  You could still use this word, if you ever met anyone who fit the description.

    Linguistically it’s entirely plausible to assert that a holy life is a life restored to wholeness, a healthy, vibrant life.

    Of course, St. Benedict was writing several centuries before any version of English existed at all.  In Latin, his choice was “sanctum,” a word that English eventually swallowed whole to mean “sacred place.”   For him and still for us, it means dedicated or set apart for the service of deity.

    Latin was a pagan language.  In Latin it’s possible to be sacred to the deity and therefore murdered; pimped out as a temple prostitute; locked in an iron cage and suspended over toxic fumes to induce entertaining prophecies for the pilgrims.  No one ever claimed that the pagan gods were faithful friends. On the contrary, they were reputed to be fickle, capricious, cruel.  You sacrificed to the gods in order to buy their favor, or to buy off their wrath.  The thing (or the person) you gave was then sacred to the god. To be sacred to the god was to be consumed by the god.

    But English developed as a Christian language and follows a different logic.  Holiness merges the concepts “sacred” and “hale” inextricably.  This is because our deity wants our good.  He doesn’t want to consume us.  He flaunts the whole concept of religion by requiring us to consume him.  What he wants from us is an interior change of heart that produces action for good.  When we’ve done wrong, he wants us to feel remorse and apologize to the person we’ve hurt.  He wants us to feel pity and do something to help when we see someone suffering.  When he gives us opportunities and resources, he wants us to feel responsible and work to establish justice.

    In exchange for dedicating your life to him, he offers to make your death temporary.  You will pass through death and emerge immortal.  As for your experience in this life, the language itself bears witness that when you offer yourself to the service of Christ, resolving to live by his commands, you will experience a restoration to wholeness.

    Live whole.  Die good.  Be hale forever.

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