I place a certain amount of faith in numbers. I think we all do, consciously or subconsciously. But sometimes, seemingly out of the blue, all of the odds, all of the polls, all of the numbers let us down. The most unlikely thing sometimes does happen. And the sails drop and our jaws drop and we are stunned, leaving us momentarily useless.
I rather like that feeling while I’m watching Sherlock on Masterpiece Theater. You know, he calculates probability in a seemingly supernatural way, predicting (accurately) two weeks in advance where his partner John will be and with whom at a particular time on a particular day. But the rest of us are surprised – surprised at the accuracy of Sherlock’s ability and surprised by our own inability to make a similarly calculated prediction. But even Sherlock has to regain his balance when the unpredictable, unlikely thing happens.
We might feel empowered when the unlikely thing happens for good … such as hitting the Powerball numbers perfectly. Or dodging a tragic accident by a hair. And power is a drug like no other. So, finding empowerment through lucky chance is, well, far more often disappointing than empowering.
Typically, we either thank God or blame God for these unlikely events. When those of us who claim to have faith in God are shaken by the failure of the odds or the polls, we are shaken more likely by the fact that God didn’t outweigh the odds or the polls to restore order and balance in our suddenly-chaotic universe. And that shows up as fear and anger. (It shows up as fear and anger in those who do not claim any faith, too. That’s just the human default.) If we aren’t careful, we take on the role of the victim. You see it on social media all the time – the scrappy victim who defies everything the “other side” stands for in articles and memes, but who does nothing to be a proactive champion of what is good and right in the world. We all see what victims are against, but never what they are for.
So, what do you do when the most unlikely things happen? I mean, after you get over the stunned phase. After you recover and realize that some things remain predictable after the unpredictable thing shook your confidence. What do you do?
The way you answer that question has everything to do with where your faith lies.
And everyone has faith in something.
We don’t travel very often. Our schedule is so hectic with everyone working, in school, or both. So, it’s a real treat when we do get a few days to go somewhere and break free from our schedule-driven routine. Being just two hours from the ocean, most of our short trips are in that direction. I am so grateful for warm sunshine, salty ocean waves, sand between my toes, and folding beach chairs! And iPods – I should add iPods. Back in the day, we had to carry great big boom boxes with about 6 extra “D” batteries to ensure that we could listen to the music we wanted instead of whatever the folks beside us might be blasting.
Last week we attended a conference in Asheville, NC. I didn’t get an opportunity to explore as much as I would have liked, but I did get a sense that I like that place quite a lot. The vibe is cool and artistic. Leaving, I knew I’d come back for another visit.
When my husband and I were together and would travel together, I noticed that he would leave something of his everywhere we went. Something. Every time. It seemed to me that he was either marking territory or leaving bread crumbs to find his way back. Now that I think about it, it seems like an outward manifestation of our different personalities. Everywhere I go, I take a little piece of the place with me internally. Everywhere he goes, he leaves a little piece of himself behind.
There’s nothing wrong with either of those approaches. I’m sure they’re equally “ok” – nothing pathological there. But I find it interesting the way places can draw us, much like people, to join them or to have them join us.
I’ve experienced most regions of the U.S. and have no desire to live in a region other than the one I’m in. I’ve only ever traveled to England outside of the U.S. It seemed oddly familiar, but not with any sense of longing or attachment.
There is a place on earth that calls me, though. I haven’t been there yet, but it calls me. I will have an opportunity to go with other Divinity students in a couple of years and I plan to do just that. The land of Israel. The Holy Land. The shores of Galilee. I want to go there. I want to be there with my bare feet in that sand. I want to hear the music the people beside me are listening to. And I want to bring it all back home with me, safely inside my heart and mind as another place that I love like a cherished friend.