A radio interview I heard last week about spirituality seemed nothing more than an Evangelical Buddhist moment: Quoted statistics demonstrated nothing, anecdotes related nothing, and questions about insights resulted in no answers. I was left to work out my own sort of meaningful answer to the topic of the day.


And so here it is, unprofound and short though it well may be: To be spiritual is to listen. 


Reading counts, certainly, at least if it’s of thoughtful content, as may being quiet and looking at nature and watching people and doing many other things, too, like listening. 


Journaling may count, too, since putting thoughts into a notebook allows you to listen to yourself, but blogging for an audience really doesn’t, as it mandates outbursts of humor and irony that (as I learned in another less-than-satisfactory interview…sorry, it must’ve been a bad week at NPR) undermine sincerity and the very fabric of relationship in our society. It’s too noisy.


(Even N gets irony: As we drove down the road yesterday she bemoaned the fact that we hadn’t said goodbye to our dear dog. “You’re right,” I said, quietly adding, “Bye, Canela”–at which N gave her I-get-it “Ha-Ha.”)


There are many Biblical examples of silence and listening as spirituality: Jesus went off by himself quite a few times, apparently; Jonah had a (probably ranting- then listening-filled) run-in with the gastric elements of a godly super fish; and Jesus when questioned by Pilate wouldn’t say anything (even though Pilate did seem ready to listen, at the moment…I’m not sure which of the two guys was being more spiritual, just then).


And then, since it’s Advent, a time of expectation and hopefully listening for new spiritualesque adventions, there was Zechariah, surrounded by idiots who didn’t seem to realize that he was dumb, not deaf (“Then they made signs to his father, to find out what he would like to name the child.” That’s ironic, right?), after he disbelieved God’s right-hand bad-boy Gabriel’s letting him know that Zechariah’s dear wife of many years and he would conceive someone relevant to the world. He’d gotten a bit testy and hadn’t replied to the message with a simple “Yessir,” so good old Gabe saw fit to mandate a bit of shut-mouth for the big Z.


There are lots more examples, I’m sure. Like the time Loretta Lynn was working in her garden in Coal Miner’s Daughter and told her own daughter something like, “Hush, now, darling, Mommy’s working on a song,” which sort of happened to me except that I was rototilling and wearing ear plugs while working on a song, and I didn’t call myself “Mommy,” and no one was trying to interrupt me, and so really it wasn’t that difficult to listen to the artistic little voice inside me. 


And there’s always the listening-based spiritual discipline of reading Joel Stein in Time and vacillating between wrinkling my brow, blushing, and nodding enthusiastically. That last part happened to me once, at least, when he wrote rather funnily about our society’s too-much reliance on humor, which is, by the way, I think, the essence of what the anti-irony lady on NPR back in my fourth paragraph was saying.


(Speaking again of irony, Time had a great “don’t worry about the death of irony” factoid: Romney’s share of the popular vote was around 47%.)

Just in case you’re tired of listening to others’ rampages and causes and concerns–that might mean you’re not into spirituality, yet, although I’m sure you’ll grow into it eventually, if Gabriel has anything to say about it–maybe you can sign up with this guy. I’m going to show the flick to my students tomorrow, to remind them what irony is.

(I’d thought about showing them this whole post with its irony, for fun, but for public school it’s probably way too spiritual.)

CHARACTERS:
God’s Angel, always flapping his wings
Philip, talking on his cell phone
Ethiopian official reading in a chariot riding along the road
A pond, standing beside the road, with a cup of water


GOD’S ANGEL, flapping his wings: Hey Phil!


PHILIP scared: Ahhh! What do you want?! (Into his cell phone) Honey, I’ve got to go…something’s come up.


GOD’S ANGEL, flapping his wings: At noon today, walk over to that one road going from Jerusalem to Gaza. Don’t wear your ear buds, and turn off that infernal cell phone, too.


PHILIP scared: Ahhh! Okay! I’m going!


Along the road, he meets the Ethiopian official, reading aloud from Isaiah.


OFFICIAL:  As a sheep led to slaughter,
      and quiet as a lamb being sheared,
   He was silent, saying nothing.
      He was mocked and put down, never got a fair trial.
   But who now can count his kin
      since he’s been taken from the earth?

GOD’S ANGEL, flapping his wings: Jump in that rig there, now!


PHILIP: What? No way. I’m not chariot jacker!


PHILIP runs along the official’s chariot.


OFFICIAL: Ahh! Awkward! Awkward! Door locks! Doesn’t this thing have any door locks! Police! Police!


PHILIP: Chill, dude. I just want to know what you’re reading. Do you understand it?


OFFICIAL: Uh, no. I have no one to explain it to me, so of course I’m clueless. Here, help me out.


PHILIP: Well….okay.


OFFICIAL: Tell me, who is the prophet talking about: himself or some other?


PHILIP: It’s about Martin Luther King, Jr.


GOD’S ANGEL, flapping his wings: What! Hold on, Phil–MLK had kids, and he talked a lot!


OFFICIAL: Who?


PHILIP: I mean, uh, Jesus! It’s about Jesus! The guy who said to be poor, and to share, and to be meek and humble and generous, and to waste perfume.


OFFICIAL: Hey, look–water! Why can’t I be baptized? 


PHILIP: You can! You can!


OFFICIAL: Stop the chariot! Stop the chariot!


Philip grabs the cup of water from the pond and pours it over them both.


God’s angel, flapping his wings, grabs Philip and takes him away. 


OFFICIAL: Huh. Curious. But now I’m alone. I’M ALL ALONE! I don’t mind, though. I’m really happy! Yippee! (Continues down the road.)


PHILIP, finding himself in Azotus: Wh…wh…what was that about?


GOD’S ANGEL, flapping his wings: Go to Caesarea, Phil, and keep on preaching.


PHILIP: Don’t you think that was a bit…abrupt? Where am I? 


GOD’S ANGEL, flapping his wings: The city of Ahh’s–Azotus! 


PHILIP: What? You’re kidding me! This is ridiculous. Oh well. (Sees a nameless passerby.) Hey, you! Have you been reading any good books lately?

The story of Zacchaeus provides a view of salvation that is different than the atonement theology that describes Jesus’ death as paying the ransom for the souls of sinful humanity. Instead, the story commands significant life change.

Prerequisite to anything Jesus, at least in this story, is curiosity. If Zacchaeus’ wealth could have bought an audience with Jesus, I’m guessing Zacchaeus wouldn’t have stooped to the indignity of running ahead of the crowd and climbing a tree, just to see better. As it was, though, there he was, hanging on a branch when Jesus made his day by calling him by name down from his perch.

That’s when other people started complaining, saying that Jesus was–oh horrors!–staying at the home of a wicked man, this tax collector who had become wealthy presumably by crooked dealings. Almost as if in response to the grumbling, almost as if he perceived that associating with Jesus required some justification on his part, almost as if he all of a sudden wanted really badly to be worthy of Christianity, Zacchaeus declared that he would not only right past wrongs but also begin to deal generously with others.

Jesus gave his blessing to this distrusted but newly changed man by declaring, “Today salvation has come to this house.”

Salvation? With no crucifixion? It’s the rest of the story that I find challenging and even intimidating, because if the process of salvation involves changing toward generous living, I know I am far from saved.

Zacchaeus’ rebirth relies on no prescribed, simple sinners’ prayer, no recitation of a newly adopted creed, and no membership in an exclusive sect. The story doesn’t even say Jesus told him to do anything at all. Instead, it seems that Zacchaeus all at once both desired and knew how to bring salvation to his life.

I suspect that every one of us has a need for the salvation of this sort, for continued turning from selfish to generous living. I know I do. 

I have been the recipient of much generosity in the last year. In a way, many people–like Jesus in the story of Zacchaeus–have come to my house for dinner. D loaned me tools and even put in hours helping with my kitchen project. G, whom I’d previously met only briefly, not only advised me by the phone and sold me professional-grade flooring supplies; he also came to my house twice to actually do (for free!) several steps of the flooring project. M extended love and acceptance even when I was less than easy to like. A cousin–just out of the blue–offered words of affirmation even when I felt self doubt about our music. 

And some, perhaps without even meaning to, pointed me toward new salvation. When I returned the tractor I’d borrowed to mow our meadow, our friend’s dad, who had seemed genuinely eager for me to use his little Ford, sat a while on his porch in the hot midday and talked, in part about a man he knew when growing up: “He always made me feel better about myself,” he said, “and that’s a big deal for a young boy.” 

That was and still is a call–to this husband, dad, son, brother, teacher, uncle, neighbor–to generous living: the perspective has looked me up and invited me to a more complete salvation based on the building up of those around me. 

And all I did was climb up onto the seat of an old tractor.

(All disciples sit around a campfire, looking bored.) 

SIMON PETER (standing): I’m going fishing.

(Nobody responds.) 

 SIMON PETER (clearing his throat): Like I said, I’m going fishing.

 (All others look at each other, grumble and shrug.) 

 JOHN: Well, I believe we will all come along.

(All get in the boat, shove off shore, and sit, bored, catching nothing all night.) 

THOMAS: I can’t believe you wanted to go fishing, Rock. What a dumb idea.

JAMES: Oh, I don’t know. I can’t say I mind the quiet time to meditate on the recent turns of events that have really thrown us all for a loop. As Buddha would have said, “When things go wrong, there’s nothing a little fishing won’t fix.”

 JOHN: I don’t believe Buddha ever said that. 

JAMES: Stop interrupting my being-less-ness, please.

NATHANAEL (yawning): Fishing sure beats working on my kitchen, though. Not that I know how to work on it, since I have no carpentry skills. Let alone money. Should I just scrape by so I can pay someone to do it all? Limp through just trying to do it myself? Settle for whatever? Whatever. Kitchens!

THOMAS: Fishing also sure beats hiding out behind locked doors. In fact, this is much better. Here we are, just sitting out here in the open, nothing to shield us from the ridicule of everyone pointing at us and laughing: ‘Hey look! All the king’s men!’ … ‘Fishers of men! Ha! They ain’t even fishers!’

SIMON PETER: Okay, okay, so I can’t deny that we’ve caught no fish tonight. But you all shush; I think that turkey on the beach is listening to every word we say. Or else he’s studying my studly chest, since I’m not wearing any clothes. It even says it in the Bible: I’M NOT WEARING ANY CLOTHES!

(Jesus stands on the beach.) 

JESUS (calling): Good morning! Did you catch anything for breakfast?

THOMAS (calling): No, and–I believe my grumbling stomach–not for a midnight snack, neither.

JAMES (calling): It’s okay, though–we’re just loving the meditating that we’re getting done. 

NATHANAEL: Shut your traps, boys, or I’ll put you all back in my new root cellar and put a trash can over the trap door. (Calling) No.

JESUS (calling): Throw the net off the right side of the boat and see what happens.

SIMON PETER: I think I’ve heard that before.

JOHN: Just do it, guys. You know, believe.

(They throw the net off the right side, and it nearly pulls them into the water.) 

JOHN: It’s the Master! James, where’s my notepad: This is perfect for my book!

SIMON PETER: Holy Smokes! (Pulls on some clothes and jumps into the water.)

(Disciples pull the net to shore, where a campfire is laid out, with bread and fish.)

JESUS: Bring some of the fish you’ve just caught.

NATHANAEL: Just a sec. We’ve got to count these, first.

(The disciples count the fish while JESUS impatiently taps his foot.)

JAMES: Oohmmmmmmmm…153 !

THOMAS: Can’t be. Net’s only rated to 75. 

SIMON PETER: Thomas, we know how to count.

NATHANAEL: Fellows, I’ve got it: I’m going to turn these 153 fish (minus a few for breakfast, of course) into that new breakfast nook in the new kitchen.

JESUS: Breakfast is ready.

(JESUS serves them food.)

SIMON PETER: Yum. I love fish for breakfast. I could eat this every day.

THOMAS: You already do.

JAMES: Buddha loved fish, too.

JOHN: Right.

NATHANAEL (thinking to himself, aloud): I’m not going to ask if that guy’s Jesus. (To the others) Anyone know of a good fishmonger? I’ve got a feeling my boat’s just floated straight into my kitchen.

THOMAS: Enough already about the kitchen, Nathanael. (To himself) I’m not going to ask if that guy’s Jesus.

JOHN (to himself): This is the third time, right? Man, if this won’t make people believe. (To the others) My boat’s a book, and I’m with Nathanael, here: the paddle’s in my hand already.