What if by Austin Channing Brown
What If?
by Austin Channing Brown
We have what it takes?
It's ok to slow down?
You are going to make it?
There is no such thing as a wrong choice?
Everything will work out ok?
You are capable?
Things end up in your favor?
The other shoe never does drop?
There is a wild adventure awaiting?
What if asking 'what if' led us to feel powerful, not scared?
What if?
This poem reminded me of the discussion I heard on Brian McLaren’s podcast with Barbara Brown Taylor about staying loyal to reality. He ends with a quote from his book Do I Stay Christian?, which I haven’t read yet but plan to pick it up today from the library. He wrote:
As I see it, to be loyal to God is to be loyal to reality, and to be loyal to reality is to be loyal to God. But that’s only true when we remember that reality isn’t simply what is. Reality also contains within it the seeds of what can be but is not yet. In other words, part of the reality to which we must be loyal is the future possibility that is subtly present in the present moment.”
Richard Rohr says it like this, “Saying yes to what is ironically sets us up for what if.” (Emphasis mine.) Imagine looking at the universe in its first several billion years, swirling gases, surging energy fields, nothing solid, or imagine looking at the Earth when it was a lifeless planet of rock, water, ice, and volcanoes. Even then, rainforests, coral reefs, savannas with elephants and giraffes, cities with standup comics and Latin jazz were inherent in the possibilities, they justweren’t visible yet. To see that possibility is what faith is about, not merely seeing the seeds in the apple, but seeing the million apple orchards waiting to spring from those seeds.
One thing I thought about as I listened—because it is at the forefront of my mind right now—is the reality of my own church, San Jose Christian Reformed Church. The church, and more specifically, the church family, has been my and my family’s extended family. The people there helped to raise my children, and we lived life together for many years. But like so many, the numbers are dwindling. We have discussed many things to explain the dwindling and also several possibilities for the future, including merging with another church, somehow offering our physical space to the community, and more. The reality is (I was thinking as I listened to this podcast) that Sunday after Sunday, I count 25…28…30…35 people in the pews with me and my husband. Twenty to thirty is common. Sunday after Sunday. For a long time, I think I and others were in denial about that reality. But now we have accepted it. But you know what? That doesn’t bring any more clarity or certainty to the question of “What next?” So there you have it.
I like the poem, though. I like the positive rather than the negative perspective. I tend to imagine the worst. It’s good to imagine the possible best.