What To Do With Uncertainty
Finding a space for our questions and fears
One of my prayer practices right now is opening my laptop every day and trying to find my way through the unknown. I’m following the charted path of the wise people as I try to understand how epiphany works.
This is the pilgrimage I mention in that first line but as you enter into these words you might consider what it is that you are so wanting to change in your life right now. Imagine that you have had the tiniest insight into that change as you attempt to push forward to getting to the other side of it.
The pilgrimage doesn’t end there, nor does their search. They may have packed up quickly the next morning after the skies twinkled so radiantly that night, eager to find what they were seeking. So compelled to keep going. No time to relish. Convincing ourselves that it will all over over soon, we trudge forward without resting.
We do not stop but we push through, fighting so hard to make our way out of the discomfort. We are in such a hurry to flee from the sharp edges, escaping everything that’s falling apart to some place more solid outside this uncertainty. To stretch beyond all that is unknown to finally find ourselves in that new beginning, so we push and prod our way to that new horizon without stopping. Thinking that if we only get there, then we can rest.
Then, there will be peace. Over on that far horizon, our search will end. We’ll find what we are seeking. We will have found it. Then, we can finally stop and lay down our heavy loads. Only then.
Faith is focused on that destination, that end point that is finally reached after all that struggle and turmoil. That manifestation is over there on that horizon where everything makes sense. Epiphany comes in that space over there, where there are no more questions and there is complete peace. Only then.
There are no tiny epiphanies, only huge revelations that alter the landscape. Everything changes in that one moment. Everything hinges on that one instant and maybe it could be like that. That might be what happens at some point but it’s not what has been revealed so far. We can push through for that new beginning, insisting that it must come after so much as already been disturbed. We’ve been prodded this far. It can’t be that much further. How long, O Lord? It’s still so far away.
Questions arise in the chaos and confusion: Will you forget me forever? Dear God, are you even paying attention to what is happening here? What did I do wrong? Should I turn around and give up? Will I ever read that distant horizon? Will there ever be an end to this unknowing? These questions have been asked before by pilgrims on the way, wandering through their own uncertainty. Embedded in their songs, there’s this small pause to take it all in and catch our breath. A statio written in the hymn contained in one untranslatable world. Selah.
It is a musical break or a moment of pause, though it’s never spoken aloud. Repeated 74 times in the text of this ancient hymnal, this one tiny word holds all of our frustration and determination. There is no help. Selah. God is our refuge. Selah. God will save us somehow. Selah. That gap where some response is so urgently needed.
That space where it feels like nothing is happening, and something should be happening but it all seems to be happening over there on that distant horizon. It is happening outside of you and beyond you, so that there is nothing to actually do which is, in and of itself, is totally disorienting. Selah.
It feels like something should happen, but there is nothing. Only this lull. This space that exists between what was and what is. And though it feels like something must be done, there’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to but wait. Selah.
When nothing makes sense, breathe. Because there is nothing you can do and it feels like everything depends on your next step, stop and breathe. That might not be the actual meaning of this word. Whatever tradition was held in this tiny word, whether it was a ritual action or a sung response, has been abandoned. Still, it is there on the page reminding us that there is mystery. Selah.
When there are no words to explain what in the world is happening, breathe deep. Selah. When it is all too overwhelming and it feels like nothing will ever change, breathe. Pause without rushing ahead. Enter into that lull away from all that feels urgent and necessary. Resist the temptation to do anything at all but let mystery take hold of you.
There needs to be some pause, a respite from so much exploration. Your body needs to be still without feeling like its constantly moving into fight or flight. There’s no clarity and your whole being needs to reset.
When this happens, find a piece of paper whether it is your best stationary, a post-it or the back of an envelope from the top of the recycling. On that paper, write down all of your questions. Let all those things that feel impossible to solve fall onto the page and when you can’t think of what else to write, find a box. It can be small storage box from the aisles of organization in IKEA or a box constructed of LEGOs or popsicle sticks by some adoring child in your life. (You can tell what kind of boxes take up my life.) Inside that box, place that paper full of questions. Close the box and put it on a shelf. Leave your questions there on that shelf, trusting that they will be there when you are ready to wander through them again. Allow your body to rest.
What you just read is a section the book I’m writing right now to be published hopefully next year by the amazing people at Tehom Center. My working title is A FIELD GUIDE TO TINY EPIPHANIES. Nothing I’m writing right now feels like an epiphany though. It’s not clicking. I don’t like it including what you just read (which makes me feel totally vulnerable). I keep rewriting the same section, and then I convince myself I should move onto another section only to return to this part that I need to figure out to know what comes next.
Life is like that sometimes, isn’t it? We don’t know what we know until we work through what is in front of us. I’m sharing this shitty first draft in the hope that it might be blessed by your thoughts and ideas. What is that far off horizon for you? Why do you so urgently need to get there? What is it feel like to have mystery hold you on in the unknown?
Write it all down: You might define yourself as a writer, but you use words and maybe you even journal. Here are some ideas on how to use that bound book and your favorite pen.
Tiny pauses: Finding your (prayer) rhythm/groove/space again.
How not to freak out: Something to practice (or listen to as that song is really a good one) when you are stuck.
Ah, I will be patient.
I liked it! You invited me to the mystery and grace of selah.