Looking Back

I was working on a sermon on Philippians 3, when something Paul says around v. 14, struck me: "forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead..." How does he DO that, I wondered? How does he forget "what lies behind..."? And: is that a good thing?

It put me to mind of certain myths and legends-- because, I mean, people have been faced with this existential dilemma for some long time! For instance, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice came to mind: How he loved her uncommonly and completely, and would celebrate his loving her in music and song. How she died, and went to Hades (because, in those pre-Christian days, everyone who died went to "hell"), and how Orpheus in his unrelenting grief descended into Hades himself to plead for her release from the land of the Dead (Hades was were the dead were, but it wasn't so far that one could not get there from here!). It was agreed that she could go-- as long as she never looked back! So Orpheus, playing his flute, leads Eurydice out of Hades-- and they are almost to the surface, when, yes, she looks back, and is lost to him forever.

Something similar happens between a mother and a daughter, Demeter and Persephone, and because Persephone looks back, we have the four seasons of the year, and not just Spring and Summer.

Then, of course, there's Lot's wife, who, in looking back as the Lord destroys their hometown of Sodom (or was it Gomorrah?), is turned into a pillar of salt...

OK, I'm saying to myself, I get the message! Looking back is not such a good thing! And not just for women-- although, yes, those who look back in these stories are women. For me, too...

I have to say about myself that I am a terrible romantic. And I mean what I say: I am terrible! When a romantic relationship ends in my life-- as one just did-- I have this terrible time looking back. Pining. Wishing it were not so. Longing.

I understand that this is all part of grief, but... I wish I grieved differently.

Our losses are supposed to teach us something about looking back-- and looking ahead. When I lost my job last Summer, I went through weeks of looking back, mired in remorse, and afraid of looking forward. Even now, as much as I am immersed in the new adventure of my present life, I look back and wonder what it would be like still to be working there.

I lost more than my job, of course. I lost my identity. And I know I am not now, nor am I to be, the person I was before. So my looking back also comes from my wondering who God is shaping me to be now-- realizing how different that is from who God shaped me to be then.

I was helped recently by a quote I came across from Catherine Marshall: "Often God shuts a door in our face, and then subsequently opens the door through which we need to go." I liked this because it captures a bit of how I felt: suddenly the door through which I was quite accustomed to going was slammed in my face. (A bit like, Get Smart!) For a time I, knowing that the door was locked and I wasn't going to be able to go back, would knock on it anyway, hoping it would open. Then for a time, while I waited for the next door to open, I lived in the interim of "subsequently!" That was its own lesson! Now, if "the" door through which I "need" to go has not yet opened completely, I am at least seeing arrows on the floor, directing me down the halls!

And I am understanding the wisdom of Paul: how essential it is to "forget" what lies behind, and "strain" for what lies ahead. Of such is the "going with the flow" of God's leading!

However, I don't think I am yet where Paul is. But I have come to a sort of Tom Petty place. "You can look back," he says in one of his lyrics, "but you better not stare."

And so it is...

* * *
Apropos to nothing, perhaps, but just because I want to put this out there, I was intrigued by a story in the Times on the basketball coach, Eddie Sutton. Sutton was on the verge of winning his 800th game, a remarkable feat made all the more remarkable by the twists and turns and ups and downs of his life-- too numerous to mention here!

Sutton got his 800th win, which was good, but what caught my attention was how the article's author, Kurt Streeter, described him: "I like fighters, people who bounce back from mistakes and war with demons. The imperfect. The humbled. That's Eddie Sutton."

And, I thought to myself, that's I. Or at least, that's the "I" I can hope to be.

Blessings, all!