1 - 23 - 18 Climbing the Sycamore Tree (5 minutes)

I was listening to one of the imaginative contemplation exercises yesterday evening on Pray as you Go and had kind of an epiphany, but one that seemed like it should be obvious.

There was a bit in the exercise where the narrator said something like “Imagine yourself as being Zacchaeus, climbing the tree to see Jesus. Now imagine looking out at the rest of the city from your new perspective.” For some reason I had a very visceral reaction to this, chills flooded my body and I felt like God had personally spoke to me and revealed a great truth.

By climbing the sycamore tree to see Jesus, Zacchaeus was able to view the rest of the city, the rest of the world, the rest of his life, from an entirely new and higher perspective. Through the effort he put into attempting to see God more clearly, he elevated himself to a new plane of existence.

I’ve written earlier about how it’s unsurprising to me that we should learn about human nature by studying God, some metaphor of the original and an image [Pigs, Dogs, and Photographs]. And I think that’s kind of a similar idea.

But this concept that we elevate ourselves by the mere searching for God is incredibly interesting to me. C.S. Lewis says something to the effect of “One need not be educated to be a Christian, for being a Christian is an education in itself.”

How often do people without faith consider the ultimate meaning of their lives? Maybe once a month, I guess I personally wouldn’t know. But usually when we hear about “questioning our purpose” it means something pretty traumatic, it’s referred to as a mental breakdown or an existential crisis.

How often do people of faith question their purpose? I personally question my purpose in life at least once a day, every time I talk with God I’m asking if I’m pursuing what He wants me to be pursuing. But it’s not traumatic, at all. In fact I find it really nice to acknowledge that I have no idea what I’m doing. It lowers the bar for my certainty in my decisions so I don’t stress as much about them. It’s also a reminder that most of the decisions I make are pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things, because I believe in this higher power, this much greater thing.

If you believe in no higher power then what you wear might really matter, because what people think of you or how attractive they find you might really matter.

In my personal experience with non-spiritual friends, they don’t often bare their soul, even to their closest friends. I think it has a lot to do with some aspects of toxic masculinity that discourage the sharing of weaknesses and emotions but also because they have no proper forum really. I’ve found, in talking with them, that usually some of the most meaningful conversations these people have are drunk or high when they and someone they barely know have wandered a bit away from the noise of the party they’re at. In that anonymity and in that intoxication they feel disinhibited enough to really express how they feel about the people in their life, what their conception of the universe is. But it’s usually kind of simplistic or cynical because they rarely discuss these things and have little to no education as to the meaning of life from their secular background.

In contrast, I’m able to have conversations with my Brothers in faith that I can’t even have with someone who’s been my best friend since kindergarten. I’ve been spending time with one guy since only November and we’re already having the type of conversations some people don’t have anyone they’d feel comfortable having with. Because there’s that common bond, that very fundamental belief that ties us together, that we know will ultimately reconcile our disagreements we feel more free to express ourselves freely and disagree, be vulnerable.

If there’s one thing Christianity teaches it’s to be vulnerable. One of the speakers at the Men’s Retreat recently was talking about an old poem. It was something to the effect of a little shepherd boy loving a little shepherd girl and dying for her. One of his college buddies, who ended up becoming a monk, was talking to him about the poem and said, “That’s me! I’m the little shepherd girl!”

Isn’t that kind of absurd? To show that kind of weakness, that kind of willingness to be cared for and loved, as a man? The vulnerability and openness we’re called to is a powerful tool of honest self-discovery, and not just making an inventory of our technical talents and weaknesses.

I use the examples of questioning purpose and deep conversation just to showcase the kind of intellectual opportunities being faithful presents. It’s gonna give you a forum to discuss your innermost desires and fears with people who are nearly strangers. It’s pretty terrifying on the surface but in that situation, I guess I’m talking now about a small faith sharing group, with that love and support it’s quite easy to open up.

Your inner life is just so much more active as a person of faith. Constantly questioning, communicating with the divine, and refining your own personality become really commonplace and natural. It isn’t until you talk to people schooled in the ways of the world that you realize these are highly unusual activities.

People who don’t talk to God, find the idea of constant communication with the divine to be pretty wacky. People who haven’t been taught the principles of humility and our duty to improve ourselves instead try to learn how to lie to themselves about how much they love themselves and how great they are. People who haven’t been encouraged to question their meaning dare not stare into oblivion, but those who know that what is unknown is not necessarily oblivion peer in for glimpses of God.

I think we all know people who are utterly uneducated but seem wise. It seems that they’re usually people of deep faith and I think this is because of the exact mechanisms I’ve been discussing. It forces you to interact with yourself and the universe in a much deeper, more frequent, and more challenging way.