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Our Indecorous Faith John the Baptist intrigued Herod. The ragged man of the desert spoke truth to the king. It probably didn’t happen often. Even his bushy head on the platter would not quickly erase his words from the king’s heart. Christ’s call can intrigue us. It does not wear the trappings of power or lift us above the human scene. This wisdom doesn’t chart a path to the mountain top which only the strongest can ascend. It does not free us from suffering or error. It is not training to be invincible or self-sufficient. It does not promise absolute tranquility. This wisdom is not on steroids. It is gaunt and sounds foolish. As when being addressed by a ragged stranger, our first impulse might be to turn away. But hearing these words can spark our longing. Wisdom is supposed to come with age or education. To enter into the wisdom of God, we can learn from children. A child reaches out to survive. What surrounds them matters. They make mistakes. They play. Feelings are not hidden and dreams are real. Living with children helps us to become more generous and forgiving. In the depths of this relationship, we may surrender in ways that seemed impossible. Cries and laughter and prayers intertwine. A child can teach us to love. Sages and superheroes are distractions. Entering into our own humanity is the great mystery. There we find God. |