The Rev. Medley
Had risen
To the highest position
He would ever
It was only down from there
An awe too common
Occupational hazard
Of moderate irony
And accumulating lessens
Just falling short
Of making one cross
Facing that less than eternal question
If only Jesus
Had bothered to develop
Better retirement plans
Here is a poem that I wrote before the Lenten season, and now that we are in Lent, I realize that it is an appropriate Lenten poem. I have always admired Jesus for being “all in” this thing called life. While Jesus’ way of being in the world raises difficult questions, his life powerfully juxtaposes finding meaning in life with finding meaning in death. Lent is a time for Christians to reflect on such things. For years I have often joked that I have given up Lent for Lent. More to the truth, my ascetic tendencies and frank goals of living simply leave me in a sort of permanent Lent. In practice, I see that Buddhists seems to model better than Christians simple living and prudently avoiding attachments to material goods. Materialism has such a powerful and normative presence in Western civilization, that Christianity, at least as practiced in Westernized communities, seems to have accommodated rampant materialism quite well. I see the divide between serving God or wealth (worldly power) as primary in my understanding of the message of Jesus’ life and death. The conventional wisdom of sensible retirement planning, as alluded to in this poem, seems second nature to what is considered the good life in modern times. I have witnessed way too many fear-filled discussions in church settings about more financially secure appointments, health coverage, and retirement benefits for clergy. In sharp contrast, I have found little traction for providing a living wage to janitors, secretaries, and many other employees of churches or faith-based organizations. Church folks are too polite to crucify you for suggesting providing a living wage to low-wage church employees, but the resounding silence kills nonetheless.
In reflecting on the often lukewarm leadership of professional Christians, often called clergy, outsiders are at little risk of ever guessing that the founder of their movement was publicly executed by the state for his revolutionary, uncompromising life. In sharp contrast, outsiders have little difficulty understanding that religious elites were complicit in Jesus’ murder.
I admire the Buddhist spiritual practice of meditating on your own death. This practice seems like a powerful way to elicit the value and importance of life in the context of death. Followers of Jesus have a profound leader who made such meditations an incarnate reality. Jesus is the way. But the retirement plan is a killer.
