Not about the ending

Not about the ending

Shortly after Girlfriend and I got together, we went through a phase of trying to figure out what we thought of the whole idea. There were lots of reasons why our relationship seemed badly timed, if not a downright dumb idea—my father had died recently, Girlfriend had even more recently just broken up with the one before me, most of our friends thought of Girlfriend as a really nice woman, while I was something more along the lines of a promiscuous flake. The local relationship bookies, as it were, were giving us long odds.

A few weeks after our first kiss, we each, in different ways, began to wonder if one day these naysayers might be proved right.

We went round and round for awhile, twisting ourselves into yoga-like poses, leaning into the future for a glimpse at the ways we might look back upon ourselves. For a few weeks it seemed crucial that we get this figured out—after all, neither one of us wanted to get serious about something doomed and stupid, nobody wanted to invest too much into a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere. And then again, we wouldn’t want to miss out, if…

Some merciful angel finally opened up my skull and dropped this wisdom in: “Girlfriend,” I paraphrased this wiser-being-than-I. “We are not going to know what we think of this relationship until it’s over. So if we really need to know what we think—if it’s more important that we judge this relationship than that we live it, well—then, we’d better break up NOW.”

More than nine years later, we’re still managing to postpone judgment day.

I am reminding myself of this episode these days, because I again find myself trying to skip ahead in the story—to know, in this case, how my year off work will end, and what I think about it. Five years from now, will I be saying, “Well yes, in 2008 I took a year’s sabbatical, and that was when I found the time to start the prize-winning novel we celebrate today.” Or is it going to be something more along the lines of, “Umm, yeah, there is this gap in my resume—you see, I took this sabbatical thing a few years back—and you know, if you’ll recall, the economy tanked right at the moment, and so those years of temp work, and… oh yes, I understand, well, I hope to hear from you again one day, sir…”

I’m not even at the half-way mark, and I am working out the climax, the conclusion, and the dénouement.

I may be obsession about the story’s end because we’re back to Ordinary Time—the long haul, this time ‘round. Pentecost is over—the disciples were dispersed with their new language skills and flaming headlamps. From now until December, the narrative has closed. The readings are reflections on the teachings and activities of Jesus, but the action sequences are stilled. We’ve gone through birth and baptism, teaching, torture, death and resurrection, ascension and commission. Time to roll the credits, get out of our theatre seats, and work our way down the aisles, out blinking into sun.

Except, of course, the story carries on. Some church traditions trace those orders to the apostles hand to hand from Peter through the popes and other leaders (Reformation, et al), through baptism to (some of) us. Others suggest we get our orders face-to-face.

We are carrying the story forward, then. And a lot of us, it seems, are quite impatient for its end. I am impressed, dismayed, a little envious at the extent to which religions have worked out all the details—who goes where, what happens then, who gets to visit, what they get to do. It suits a certain sensibility of which I have a hefty dose, to have it all worked out in such detail. But I can’t help but notice that it crowds out a certain…Mystery.

I know, I know: the Bible’s got four horses, and damnation, and the goats and sheep divided and the trumpet blasts. But it also has this certain….is-ness that seems to undercut the plot. As in the name of Yahweh, which means something like “I AM.” All the present tense that Jesus used: “The kingdom of God is at hand, is like a mustard seed…you are the light of the world.” Or this phrase, in the center of the Mass: “Christ is risen.” Listen to the way it buzzes in your ear.

God doesn’t seem to be about the ending.

I think we’re supposed to take a clue from that: try to live the story a little bit more, and figure it out a little bit less.