Permission

Saturday, November 16, 2024

(click here to listen to or read today’s scriptures) also 2 John

Permission

I keep thinking about old friends (and new ones), what we share, what we remember, what we talk about.

And now I am not writing a new commandment but one we have had from the beginning: love one another. And this is love: that we walk in obedience to his commands. Anyone who runs ahead and does not continue in the teaching of Christ does not have God.

John continues his letter with a warning that I am reluctant to heed.

If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not take them into your house or welcome them.

I have some ideas about how to love and work to put those ideas into practice. But there is much I don’t know or just don’t have the emotional capacity to live out when it comes to the love John is talking about – which is unconditional and selfless. I know these limitations apply to all of us, whether we acknowledge them or not.

In a way, you might say we know just enough about love to be dangerous.

Given my imperfection, I am more inclined to heed the permissions in Clarence’s poem, and to ask others to heed them with me:

Clarence Heller, “Permission,” a poem

I give you permission to be both/and instead of either/or,

masculine and feminine, black and white,

rich and poor, hard and soft,

grateful and angry (so angry you want to break something).

 

I give you permission to burn the box

that others try to keep you in

(here, borrow my matches).

 

I give you permission to talk about God and faith,

and also to talk about your questions and doubts

about God and religion (my, how you are growing).

 

I give you permission to believe that you

already are the person you most want to be,

deep down you are (and I can see it)

and I will offer you encouragement

to let that person rule your life.

 

I give you permission to remember

the tragedies of your childhood—

abandonment, ridicule, loneliness, abuse—

permission to be proud and ashamed,

to tell of your successes and failures.

Tell me about your kids and what makes you cry,

how you have hurt each other,

and how deeply you love each other.

 

I give you permission to tell me

the secret you think only you carry

(I bet it has something to do with fear,

inadequacy, un-love, un-acceptance)

and together we will find that our secrets

are not so very different.

 

I give you permission to touch me,

my heart, my hand, my body, my soul,

to discover that before all the hurts began

we were siblings.

 

I give you permission,

and when I give this gift to you

I give it to myself as well.

With these permissions, politics and religion can resume their rightful place in conversation, as most of us would prefer. With these permissions we can feel less alone and much more connected. With these permissions we can wait together – covered with God’s grace, mercy and peace – for one of those final moments.

Even when we’re apart physically, we know how much we are truly one.

 (3 John, Psalm 112, 2 Thessalonians 2, Luke 18)

(posted at www.davesandel.net)

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