The Traveler
Dave,
What is it about traveling? We grew up out of a cluster of ministry-minded college friends- many of whom did some serious world travel. Jacksons. Johnsons. Carder. Kind & Schmerse. You. Me. And I could name lots more. And it seems that these travels have defined us in many ways. Changed us. Especially spiritually. I have watched the faith of my friends, and especially my own, go through a really difficult metamorphosis. The question is, was the caterpillar better than the new butterfly? Some have become Universalists. Some, inclusivists. Some, screwed-up-ivists.
Part of this changing is just growing up, finding our own way. But I really believe part of it is a unique experience in our time and culture. Now, more than ever before in history, American students can gain the whole world (through traveling and studying abroad)... and perhaps lose their soul in the process. There have always been the elite members of the global community, the religious intelligencia, the cultured people, the world-minded. But now there are more of these than ever. Students who, during their most formative educational years, are exposing themselves to other cultures, other religions, and stimuli that they often do not know how to process or assimilate into their lives.
It's like The Traveler. The Traveler is different than someone who travels. Anyone can go to a different location. Vacation. Visit. And come home. But a traveler is one who has undergone a paradigm shift- his home is now anywhere he lays his head (this person can by all means be female too, I am just using male pronouns for clarity's sake). He has no place of ultimate return. He has no restful haven where he can call home. Every town is his town. Every street his pathway. And though he may stay here or there for a while, even a long while, he has packed all his belongings in his heart, and he could leave at a moment's notice. And he doesn't waste much time "unpacking" and settling into a particular place, because he'll probably just leave again. The Traveler is one who frequently travels, but it is also an internal state.
He sees a town, and he knows what a town is. Regardless of what country he is in, or what language they speak, a town is still a town. A group of people. They have their own little power structure. Their rules- written and unwritten. Their method of waste removal. Their politics. Their local heroes. Their embarrassing moments of the past. Their methods of food production. The Traveler knows what it means to be a town. So when he walks into a small town, he has an heir of mystery to him. "There's the guy who has been everywhere." "He's not from around here." "He's different." The mystique of the larger awareness. The scent of the pilgrim. The face of the hero.
The Traveler can enter a town council meeting and listen to their quibbling about whether or not they should expand Main Street to a four-lane highway. Everyone has their own opinion. Those who want more business and economic growth say yes, it will draw more people into the town. The farmer who is concerned that the town will get too big (and that his farming business might be marginalized), raises all kinds of caution. And they debate. But the Traveler has seen it before. He doesn't really care if the town grows big or small. He knows it will probably expand the highway, and probably draw a lot of larger chain corporations because it is in a prime location. And the local farmer will probably be beaten out by a mega-market that sets up shop ten miles from his fields. The Traveler has seen it before. Knows the way things go. So he can advise the council members, and warn them of the possible dangers. And bring the wisdom of experience.
He can go to the high school football game on Friday night and wonder why all these adults get so emotionally involved in a small-town game. Do these sixteen year olds really think they're so special? Or the best? Why would any one of the mature people here get upset if this team wins or loses? It really means nothing in the scheme of life. In the world. He finds it amusing, and yet feels that he doesn't belong. Can't speak their language.
He meets the farmer's wife. Both of them smiling from ear to ear. Married for twenty years, but still very much in love. The farmer tells him that he married the most beautiful woman in the world. But the Traveler has seen the world, and seen at least two hundred women who were more beautiful. But he doesn't tell the farmer that. He just smiles. And the farmer wonders what the Traveler knows that he doesn't know. And what is really over that mountain- the one that the Traveler climbed. And he goes back into his house with his wife and eats dinner and watches someone's adventures on the television.
The Traveler may be the hero. May hold some prestige in the town. May feel special. But then he leaves. He moves on. For that's what he does. He's a Traveler. Knows the whole world, but strangely lost something. Maybe battles with loneliness and lack of meaning. Maybe feels more foolish than the farmer.
The farmer, however, sees the town very differently than the Traveler saw it. The farmer knows what it is to plant a seed and tend it until it grows in to a vegetable, and then harvest and eat the vegetable. And feed your kids with it. Knows what it is to wake up in the same bed every morning, and walk into your investments and see the returns. The farmer cares about the town highway project. He's not been in many towns, and doesn't know how these things work, but he knows that too much commercialism could hurt the town. And he doesn't want to see that happen.
When he goes to a football game, he pays his five bucks without thinking. His son's the starting running back this year. And when his son makes a good play, he's cheering louder than any of them. And his son might even be able to get a scholarship to play in college. And he knows the other boys on the team. Seen them grow up. Seen them practice hard. Wants them to be their rivals this year, the first time in ten years.
And the farmer loves his wife. Nobody in the world, or no amount of money could convince him that she's not the most beautiful woman in the world. He chose her, and he still loves her, and he didn't need to see two hundred pretty girls to make his pick. And most of the time he's happy with it.
The Traveler is likely to get lonely. Likely to envy the farmer's love and commitment to his wife. But could he commit? Could he actually care about a high school football game? Could he patiently plant and wait. He's seen the world, climbed the mountains. What's next?
The farmer is bound to have a long night now and again where he dreams of the world he never saw. Of the adventure he never had. Of the Princess he never rescued. Where he wonders if all life is is this damn field, where his sweat makes the beans grow. He'll wish for a prettier wife maybe. Or a younger one. He'll wish he'd done what the Traveler did. But then he'll probably go to sleep and forget about it in a couple days.
I've been the Traveler. It has sunk deep. It's who I've become. Not just for a day, or for a trip. But in essence. I can remember the day I packed up my emotional backpack and set out on a journey by myself. And I have followed on that quest for years. Seen the cities. Now I know what it means to be a city. Dug deep into the wilderness. Now I know how to survive. Tasted cultures. Now I lost some of my own in the process. Studied other faith systems- seen them - met them. Now I can't just cling to my own like I did. Slept in hundreds of different places.
Could not see myself committing to a place. A field. A girl. A job. A town. A team.
I am tired of being a Traveler. It is getting lonely.
I want to see the dew on the field in the morning... the same field that just a few months ago was covered with snow. I want to wait for the cherry blossoms to burst out in their song. And watch them die. And watch them resurrect.
I want to taste what I planted years ago, for once.
I want to get to know my neighbor, not just this culture.
I want to hear a voice that I have created say "I love you daddy."
I want to be as convinced as the farmer, that the woman I wake up with in the morning is the most beautiful woman in the world. And I want to make her feel like that.
I want to be buried next to another Osborne, not just be buried in the last town I was in.
I will never be the farmer. I will always reminisce of the mountain top, or the great battle, or the long journey through the dark forest. I will always smell the new smells of the new city. Sometimes wake up and wonder where in the world am I? See the scars on my stomach from that one time. Scream. Cry. Long for the Traveler. I don't suppose those things will ever wholly leave.
But I would rather master the language of loving my wife than master the languages of ten nations.
I suspect I will be ire for those farmers. A pricking, raging beast settled among them. Until I must move on. I strongly expect to be forever untamed, even in my small town. Yet farming.
And this applies spiritually. Through education and diverse experience, we can learn of many different religions. See many "towns". And we realize their similarities. See their faults and prizes. Condemn their ignorance and applaud their spirit. After stepping out of our own religious system or origin, we can ask ourselves the question, "Why is my town better or more right than anyone else's town?" And that is a valid question. And perhaps someone may then be whole-heartedly convinced that one particular town (religion/ belief) is the absolute accurate one. I suspect such a person will immediately settle in that town.
But maybe the religious Traveler will have to choose a town. Maybe he can never be wholly certain, absolutely sure, where to settle. Thus, the Traveler's choice is now either to remain a Traveler, or to become a farmer.
While the Religious Traveler can sample the best delicacies from every town, he will never get to know the cook who made his food. While he may have an heir of authority and mystery, he will never experience the depth and relationship offered within the community.
I humbly admit that, as of now, with my understanding of epistemology, I cannot say for sure "for sure" regarding all my beliefs spiritually. I believe in the Christian story, and have laid down roots there, but I doubt I'd ever be able to prove it to you (or even to myself). I have chosen to stop and stay in this town. I love the people. I love the heritage. I love the love. And I think it is the essence of reality as best as can be described in human language. I much prefer committing my life to Christ over being a spiritual wanderer. I prefer accepting a few essentials by faith over never holding my ground on any belief. I prefer devoting myself to this marriage (in a sense, to Christ) rather than forever searching for the prettier girl.
I'm never gonna be a tame farmer, or citizen, or Christian.
But I am one.
I may never settle down.
But I am going to wholly invest myself here.
God, please accept all that I believe, all that I do, and all that I say as my humble and sincere attempts to worship you because you are far greater than me. Changing,
Jarod
A sphere with a wooden center
Detachment. This is the word I remember from your last e-mail. I brought up detachment as a spiritual goal in a Bible study recently, and it was shot down by all but none. I suppose it does carry with it a negative connotation. 'That man is detached from his marriage'. Definitely a bad thing. 'When she heard her mother died she didn't even cry.' Not a healthy reaction. I suppose I can use detachment positively if I detach myself from things, especially if those things threaten to steal my time and energy. People are admired for detaching themselves from their material possessions, or even from the allure of their status. We sometimes even admire people who detach from the rest of humanity. But to detach from humans is quite a different thing. It is wrong to be indifferent to the those around us, so we need to learn how to regard them. Often I detach to protect myself from harm or unhealthy reliance on others. Protection of image (as if I had one to protect), protection of dignity, protection from irritation, I've found many reasons to detach, and I've become quite good at doing it. So good, in fact, that I sometimes can't quite reconnect after I've conducted a successful detachment party within myself. If I truly have reached within to 'unplug' whatever attachments I had in this life, perhaps I can return now and face the same people and situations, only with a different approach.
For years now I've watched my mom love the unlovable. She purposefully finds people who are struggling emotionally, financially, even physically and tries to help them out of their destructive cycles. She believes in the power of believing in another person. She believes that God's power can change another. When I'm with her, my hope and enthusiasm for that sort of change grows. Sometimes I think her involvement is misplaced, or even dangerous at times. But I would say the best 'Christian' conclusion is that most of her toiling produces unseen good effect. I respect and admire her for it. I, however, have detached myself from people like this. In my own pompous, arrogant way I have ignored (rejected) the lives of these broken people. She expects to see change in them. I don't. She believes they have the ability to love far beyond their current practices. I lower my eyes and pretend to hope.
The root of my detachment became clearer on the day I went for the job interview in Dayton at the church who was looking for a worship pastor. At the time I was wrestling with why God had never used me to lead another person into the Kingdom. Through most of my life as a believer it was a desire of mine to, not just pray a prayer of salvation with someone, but watch them go from a Godless life to a God-filled life, and then recognize it as a miracle from God. I wanted to see that so bad. It started with honest intentions of wanting people to be rescued from Hell. Sure, there was always the battle of, am I doing this for God's glory or for mine? But (logic from my theology at the time) if God really wants people into Heaven that bad, will my intentions matter that much? As I continued looking for people to share with, my mood become more laid back and I would strike up conversations with random people in the areas wherever I lived. Nothing special really, just looking for opportunities to ask pointed questions that would get people thinking. But even this, while a good exercise in the spreading of wisdom, was unsatisfactory and often met with a wall of misunderstanding. I began to detach myself from the situation I believed I was in, being, I am talking with people who are on a road to eternal condemnation and I can do nothing about it. They don't understand, nor do they care. Eradic displays of emotions would not inspire a change. I hoped that my music could penetrate those walls or create bridges. But what I discovered was that there was a fundamental difference between me and the people I was hoping to reach. I was seeing reality through the eyes of faith, and they were not. End of story. And instead of caring for those people, I chose to detach from them.
You can't argue someone into having faith. You just can't. No amount of persuasion, begging, or trickery will ever cause another person to believe.
God, don't You understand this? You can't just force someone to believe Your truth, even if you display it to them in all Your might and power. If other religions truly are shattered truth, and some good elements remain, shine them brightly to be embraced by Your anonymous children. But of course You, Who gave us the will to choose, understand. And You still have hope for those selfishly living in their own states of detachment, dead to themselves and to the world. As for me, I have ignored (rejected) them as hopeless cases of inverted self-love, not unlike myself. The difference between You and I is hope. Hope is involvement unto pain, toiling until the message is clear.
When the people I met didn't understand or accept Your Message as I explained it, I counted it as a personal failure. It was as if I didn't know You well enough to talk about You. Or maybe You were willing to introduce Yourself to me, but not to these other people. Because I remember when Your Truth shot through me. I remember being filled by Your Spirit. I can't remember if it was because of something I did or just because You chose to find me.
How it happened isn't important, what's important is that I learn from You, and teach this to those around me STARTING WITH THOSE CLOSEST TO ME.
Detachment is the first stage of rejection. Buddhism follows a similar idea. The Pain doesn't exist, because it is only in your mind. If you detach from those things which bring Pain, Pain will cease to exist. However, in doing so you will created a divide between yourself and the world around you, including your loved ones. When you cut off your loved ones, you also cut off the ones who love you. And if nobody loves you, you probably don't exist either.
Reconnecting,
Dave
