On Life: Part 4, Getting Unstuck

Over the years in my efforts to make sense of life I have read broadly and appreciatively from many sources, from many faith traditions, from many disciplines of study.  Often I have found in this pursuit marvelous insight, sometimes just a turn of phrase that opens up a seeming universe of new and richer meaning.  Still when all is said and done I believe almost all I’ve learned comes down to a very few basic principles taught by Jesus.  One, the first, is the fundamental necessity of getting over oneself.  This we looked at in my last post.

The second principle of Jesus that is absolutely fundamental to understanding how life works is to get over whatever you’re attached to, to somehow get unstuck from all the things that keep you from really living.  Jesus says this often, in many ways, in many of his stories, in many of his encounters, one of the most famous being with the rich young ruler in Matthew 19.  But the most startling way he said it is in Luke 14:25-27, “Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: ‘If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters – yes, even his own life – he cannot be my disciple.  And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.’”

This is, of course, a shocking text, that we are to hate our fathers and mothers, our wives and children, our brothers and sisters – that we are to hate those to whom we are most naturally bound.  So what’s going on?  Didn’t Jesus speak of love all the time and didn’t he undeniably love his own mother?  It’s helpful to remember, I think, that Jesus is so much more Eastern than readers in twenty-first-century America suppose, and he has this way about him that only Eastern masters have: the stunning paradox, the apparent non sequitur, the seemingly outlandish proposal – “Gouge out your eye,” “Cut off your hand,” “Sell all that you have,” or “Oh, hate your father and mother” – to break up our patterns of thought, to disrupt our complacency, to smash our clichés and platitudes, to force us to look at life again and think.  It’s almost what a Zen master would say.  And I think there is a certain truth to that.

Perhaps the answer, however, is simpler still; perhaps it lies in the real meaning of the Semitic word for “hate” (or the word translated “hate” here), because the word means “to turn away from, or to detach yourself from.”  There is nothing of the emotion we experience in the expression “I hate you.”  Jesus is warning his followers, “If you cannot detach or get unstuck from your father or mother, from your wife or children, or from your brothers or sisters, you cannot really follow me.” 

Certainly this is true in this particular historical moment, Jesus setting out resolutely for Jerusalem, knowing he will be killed there, but this is also timeless, universal truth that goes to the heart of being alive.  This is brilliant insight that the wisest have always known.  Whatever you cling to in life, whatever you have convinced yourself you cannot be happy without, has “potential nightmare” written all over it.  It may be a person, a place or an outcome.  

Think about it; most of your misery in life comes from the things you’re attached to.  Think of the things you cling to in life and see them for what they are – nightmares that cause you excitement and pleasure on the one hand (and in small doses) but also worry, insecurity, tension, anxiety, fear and unhappiness on the other (and often in large doses).  And in fact you keep going through that cycle.  You find something or someone or some outcome you convince yourself you can’t be happy without.  You do have these moments of exquisite pleasure.  Then fear (fear that this will all be lost), and worry, anxiety and unhappiness.  Then pleasure again.  And then worry.  And pleasure and worry.  And you’re completely missing out on life, on all the people God gives you, on all the things God gives you, and on all the outcomes he makes possible, some of which are more glorious than the one you’re stuck on.  Life is giving you so much, but all you can see is the thing you cannot be happy without.  Yes, things are always coming together and falling apart, and coming together again and falling apart again, but often it’s their falling apart that creates space for what is new and better.