There is a Benedictine vow, which is called “Conversatio
Morem.” The best translation of this term is something like ‘conversion of
life,’ and it has this sense that in life we have conversion by our vows and
most importantly, by our participation in the life of God.
I think if we consider how our life with God is more of a
journey than one decisive moment; we might understand this idea of conversion
of life as a continuous, on-going process. Because as many of us know, our
lives are marked by any number of conversion experiences along the way,
meaning: God is constantly pursuing us as beloved children.
In my own life, I might give about 8% of it to conversion moments—and
while that might sound like a small percentage, you have understand that there
just aren’t so many “defining moments” in life. Really, there are just a few
here and there to punctuate all of the other moments—because, of course, it’s
the living afterward that changes the course of life beyond the conversion
‘moment.’
I think this is the difficulty of conversion, that it is a
process, and it’s likely that we won’t ever see its fullness in this life.
What’s harder is that the growth in-between can be painful and messy because it
happens in a messy world where painful things happen. Since the growth happens
in the midst of life, it forces us then to pose our experiences with God
against tragedy and all of the other things in life which make us second guess
our faith.
For example, just this past week, a man in Wisconsin walked
into a Sikh Temple and opened fire, killing 6 people who had come to worship.
This of course comes less than a month after the shootings in Aurora, Colorado
where James Holmes opened fire into a crowd at a movie theater killing 12
people and wounding 58. It’s a stark reminder of how dangerous our world can
be, and more evidence against our claim at being a civilized society.
The reasons may have been different, but the violence in the
acts, and the disturbing aftermath linger oppressively—for all of us.
No matter how much the media tempts us to become desensitized
to loss of life by their aggrandizing and voyeurism; people of faith cannot so
easily let it go… Because we’re forced to ask what all of it means in relation
to Providence, and it questions the validity of our own experiences with God.
However, our faith is far from being an opiate to the pain of
the world. We’re not given easy answers to difficult questions—nor are we
allowed to hide our heads in sanctimonious sand. Because at its deepest level,
our faith is brutally honest about pain and suffering. It never ignores the
messiness of the world, but subsumes it, and absorbs it into itself so that the
hopeful resolution in redemption can be realized. It’s the reason that we stand
in the shadow of a crucified God, and is the reason we call ourselves by his
name—Christians, or followers of Christ.
The point is, as people of the Christian faith, we never shy
away from difficult or painful things, but instead deal with them by grace—a
kind of grace that has seen numerous generations through equally impossible situations.
Because somehow by the Spirit of God, and our faith community, we find a way
forward. Even if we cannot make sense of tragedy, we don’t ever work through it
alone. Our experiences with God, and God’s continued participation in our lives
never leaves us abandoned to try to make sense of these things. And with the
help of the Holy Spirit, and those around us, we can begin to re-enter a kind
of conversion of life cycle; wherein we begin to understand not whether there
is some purpose to the tragedy, but that even in such tragic situations, God
joins us in our pain. And through the continued work of the Holy Spirit what we
face can become a kind of conversion experience.
In time, at best, we can look back at pain and tragedy and
mark our own growth from it—our own resolve and strength. Certainly we’ll
continue to mourn the lost, but with God’s help, I believe that we grow to
accept the hope of resurrection as a real and viable hope.
Jesus told the crowds, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes
to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
I would say in light of all that has occurred in the past couple of months, and
happens continually on different scales all over the world; we are a very
hungry and thirsty people. But a couple
of the verses that are omitted in today’s reading are very important in regard
to this reality. Because Jesus says, “Everything that the Father gives me will
come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away…And this is the
will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given
me, but raise it up on the last day.”
Today, like every day, we have the opportunity to be changed—to
experience conversion. But such an opportunity is only viable so long as we have
the courage to understand our faith as our strength in adversity. What’s more,
if we feel that we lack that faith and strength—we have to know that others may
lend us some of theirs. And if that isn’t enough, we have the promise that we
will never be driven away of lost, because we have been given to Jesus Christ,
and we belong to him forever.
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