Afraid to Ask
23 September 2018
Proper 20B
Homily preached at Trinity Episcopal Church
Ashland, Oregon
8:00 a.m. Said, 1000 a.m. Sung Mass
All-Nurturing One, help us to ask and ask well. God, open our eyes that we may see, our ears
that we may hear, and our hearts that we may understand. Amen
A
couple of decades ago, Elena and I were going through a tough patch in our
marriage. We had three kids in college,
and money was tight. Both of us were
working hard at our separate careers. In
the evenings, we were exhausted and had little time for each other. We had stopped talking. Resentments built up, and there was tension
in almost all of our interactions. Both
of us knew something was deeply wrong. But neither of us dared ask what was the
matter. We were afraid that talking
might make the problem more real, harder to resolve. If we lifted up that rock, we were afraid of
what might crawl out. It was only by
seeking counseling and a long process of amendment of life and forgiveness that
we were able to reclaim our sweet relationship, if anything strengthened and
deepened by taking the risk of asking about what we feared to ask. I am pretty sure that most of us have had
similar experiences, whether with spouses, professional colleagues, or friends:
afraid to ask, and suffering through the uncertainty and discomfort of not
understanding, of not knowing.
That
is what the disciples in today’s Gospel experience. Jesus tells them what he thinks might happen
when he goes to Jerusalem, and it’s pretty grim. “But they
did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him” (Mark
9:32).
Who knows? Maybe they’re afraid to
ask because they remember what happened the last time the subject came up, a
story we read last week: Peter tells Jesus
not to be so pessimistic, and Jesus shuts him down, “Get behind me, Satan!” For whatever reason, the disciples have to go
through Holy Week with no clue about what will happen or what it means, with
only a memory of puzzlement at Jesus’ saying, and not a memory of how he
explained it.
There are many things we do not
understand. There are many things we are
afraid of asking. But our unwillingness
to broach a subject, or to avoid it, or postpone or procrastinate it, can be a
useful indicator of where our issues are, what triggers we have.
Most of today's scriptures touch on this: the Wisdom of Solomon talks about wicked people who cannot bear a righteous person, who try to avoid him and then try to kill him, because they don't want to ask the questions his presence raises. James says strife and dissension come from hearts that are not right, and adds that we do not ask, or if we do, don't ask right.
One of my
besetting sins is procrastination. I
took 20 years to finish my doctoral dissertation at the Catholic University of
America—but the first 15 of those were wasted with procrastination. I was
afraid to write something that might be rejected, or ridiculed, or even barely
criticized by my Jesuit dissertation adviser.
Fear of failure, but more important, fear of the obligations of success: actually submitting a draft meant subjecting
myself to the process of editing and criticism.
It meant having to revise, having to change, actually stretching myself
beyond where I was. The dissertation had
become an unmentionable subject at home, one of the many issues troubling our
marriage. I realized that if I saw one of my advisers or
professors on the street, I would have crossed over to the other side to avoid
greeting them. When we moved back into
the area and Elena began her master’s degree at CUA, the time was right to bell
the cat and address the un-addressable. Under counseling, I decided to make amends,
and put this to rest. I made
appointments to apologize and clear the air.
My adviser, though, surprised me and asked me to resume my work. If I committed to finishing, he would commit
to getting me readmitted and my committee reconstituted. Here’s the thing—once I started again, it was
not about finishing for me. It was not
about writing the perfect dissertation and getting it right on the first
draft. It was about putting in three
hours a day and doing one day of library work once a week. It was about putting in the time and effort,
regardless of results. That way, if I
failed, at least I knew that I had given it an honest effort and would not have
to go around hiding from topics of discussion or people. Once I started, it only took four years. But I first had to be willing to look under
that rock, ask that question I was afraid to ask.
Not asking is
one sign of fear. Procrastination is another. So is distraction, always missing the crucial
point and focusing on side issues.
Another is anger and outbursts of control freakiness.
What do we
fear?
We usually
find that question hard to answer since we almost automatically avoid what we
fear, and shy away from it. Fear
produces blind spots.
It might be
more helpful to ask: what do we
avoid? What do we postpone and put off?
In what scenes are we like the cartoon characters that cover their eyes and
say, “I can’t bear to look?”
Here
are some questions I have noticed that are often avoided:
What
is it about me that makes it so this situation angers me so?
How
have I hurt someone?
Can I
forgive?
Do I
enjoy privilege because of my skin color, or gender?
What
is my part in the ongoing degradation of the natural environment and ruination
of the planet?
How
have I discouraged others from expressing their ideals and feelings?
There are some ethics and limits on
approaching things that have we have put off or have put us off. In the Twelve Steps, we are advised to make a
fearless moral inventory and a list of people we have harmed, and then make “direct
amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them
or others.” Sometimes, simply
recognizing a problem and making quiet amends is better than broaching
difficult matters and causing further hurt.
If we are in a position of privilege or power, it is all the more important to ask the hard question. Studied ignorance in such situations is a recipe for serious harm. This is why James Baldwin said, “It is certain, in any case, that ignorance allied with power is the most ferocious enemy justice can have.” Denial is the principal operator here, as is a stubborn refusal to listen to perspectives different from our own. “La-la-la I can’t hear you” is another way of saying “I can’t bear to look.”
If we are afraid to ask about or address a situation where we were the one harmed, it is important to talk to others, get support, and not be afraid any longer. Lift up the rock and watch what crawls out. This is one of the great things about the #METOO movement. And if the abuser won’t accept your complaint or accusation, or even replies with further abuse, or if the system won’t favorably reply to you, either because of the corrupting entrenched power of privilege, partisanship, or because of honest concerns about preserving our society’s commitment of a presumption of innocence for any accused person, do not shut down and let that abuser win. Be fearless and stick with your story. As Martin Luther King taught, "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice."
We are all called to face our fears. It is, I believe, part of accepting Jesus’ invitation to “take up your cross and follow me.”
I invite all of us this week to look into our hearts and find evidences of blind spots and fears. What are the things in your life that make you want to look small so no one will notice you? Go to the other side of the street? Avoid someone? What always pushes your justice button or makes you angry? What questions are you afraid to ask? Why?
Such a practice will help us identify our fears and understand what is our responsibility and what is someone else’s. Once we have an idea of where we are afraid to ask, talking it over with a trusted friend or counselor, or even with what the prayer book calls “a discreet priest” will help us actually see true blind spots.
All of this will give us courage and heart to face our fears, take responsibility for our misdoings and amend them, and let go of resentment at the misdoings of others.
In the name of Christ, Amen.
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