Sitting in the eye doctor’s chair a couple of weeks ago, with my pupils duly dilated, the lights dimmed, nothing there to read but the eye chart, and the doctor, as always, busy with somebody else, I realized once again, how vital my time has become. It’s part personality. I’ve long tried to maximize my time, but that trait is facing a force multiplier now from children whose time at home is short, and the unfathomable reality of finding my way fully into mid-life. So it is that I am cherishing time, salvaging time, multi-tasking, looking for short cuts, time-savers, trying, in other words, to fill right up to the brim each and every remaining waking minute.
That’s probably what led me to Richard Rohr’s new book, Falling Upward, A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. In it, he speaks of deconstructing “first half of life containers” in favor of more generative, open and loving constructs the second half. He quotes Albert Einstein who said, “No problem can be solved by the same consciousness that caused it in the first place” and suggests that the second half of life both forces and invites us to a more healthy and grace-filled world-view.
One way to read this passage in Luke is to see that this deconstruction/reconstruction happened to the disciples when they recognized the risen Christ. Their early containers of a politically motivated, power-based messiahship were deconstructed, and the resurrection invited them into a whole new construct for faith and life, one that sounded an awful lot like risk, trust, surrender, and gratitude, of living in a fashion that recognizes the sacredness of life, that sees life as more magical, less predictable, more autonomous, less controllable, more varied, less simple, more infinite, less knowable and more wonderfully troubling than they could have imagined before they had gone through the difficulty of the first half. The may not have liked it, but they embraced it, and reconstructed their lives based on this new understanding of faith. In fact, history suggests that all disciples were so compelled by the importance of the gospel that they gave their lives for it.
Deconstruction involves loss, which is not always our favorite topic. Growth requires change, another less-than-favorite notion. But this Easter I also had a wonderful reminder of its rewards. When I was a child, Easter was typically a bit of a disappointment. We weren’t Roman Catholic like most of our neighbors and didn’t get new suits, dresses, or ties. We typically got a Fanny Farmer chocolate bunny and some jelly beans, most of which my father ate after we went to bed. Easter, frankly, devolved into little more than a boring time with relatives with whom we shared little in common, a day I wished away as fast as possible.
But this Easter, on the spur of the moment, my sister called to say she was nearby and, after some coaxing, agreed to come to spend the evening with us, bringing her eldest daughter with her. We didn’t do much … went for a walk, sat on the porch, shared a meal and some family stories. But beneath the surface something far more profound was happening, as I realized my understanding of Easter had experienced the deconstruction and reconstruction Rohr describes. Instead of wanting something sweet or trying to get my head around a dubious bunny or -- worse yet -- wishing the day away while with relatives with whom I had little in common, I had the opportunity to celebrate Easter with someone I used to celebrate it with for 18 years but had not done so in more than 30. It brought deep joy, a treasured time of suddenly, and even a bit miraculously, becoming family once again; a listening and sharing time; a remembering and envisioning time; time sitting all together round a table, breaking bread together, laughing about old stories, making some new ones, and glimpsing faces almost lost to distant memory.
As I awoke Easter morning, it occurred to me that my sister and I did exactly what we used to do 40 years ago, only this time with a totally reconstructed understanding of faith and life, with a second half quality of time. It was nothing less than a sublime gift, one which I’ll long treasure.
I firmly believe it’s the kind of time we are all looking for, looking forward to, in our heart of hearts. And it’s based on our resurrection belief that God is always at work, always making a way, always showing up when we least expect it, and inviting us to embrace the life that really is life.
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