The Myth of Return, and Grief

The possibility of return holds a powerful grip on the human psyche and in our mythology (by which I mean foundational stories we tell about ourselves).  The two most prominent biblical examples of return I can think of involve The Garden of Eden and Jerusalem.  The first portrays a pristine original human condition – a garden of innocence and abundance that was lost in our collective coming of age through the eating from the tree of knowledge.  The second took hold after the Judeans’ exile to Babylon and the destruction of their holy city Jerusalem.  Hebrew prophets and various Psalms give voice to the longing to return to Jerusalem.

The myth of return runs strong in our national politics as well.  The former President’s motto to “Make America Great Again” implied there was a time of greatness in our history to which we must return if we are to preserve our nation.  It tapped into a current many of us weren’t aware was, and still is, there.  Even our current President’s “Build Back Better” campaign nods to the idea that there is something lost to build back.  President Putin’s war of aggression in Ukraine is essentially a Make Russia Great Again campaign, looking back a full millennium to Kyiv as the original seat of the Russian Orthodox Church and spread of Rus influence.

In the last couple years there have been times I have caught myself longing for a return to normal and having to remind myself that normal wasn’t all that great.     

The myth of return is an incredibly powerful framing for groups of people to organize their energy and focus their resources.  When it gets mixed in with ego, narcissism, and power, it is a deadly force. 

I wonder if this contagion is rooted in our inability or lack of will to confront grief and loss.  To healthily move beyond past glory (as defined by one group) or child-like innocence or tranquility, we first must come to terms with its death, which brings us to humility, which brings us into a transformed relationship with the present and future.  In this sense, grief work at all levels can be a nonviolent antidote to all the ways the myth of return is abused.

Joel

Name tags +

These last couple weeks we’ve been wearing name tags during in-person worship services.  It’s good to remind each other who we are, or at least what our parents named us.  After living most of my life as the only Joel in the room, I now enjoy being one of several and so sign my tag “Joel M.”      

One of the things about living in Zoom-land for the last two years is that nametags come with the package.  And not just name tags, but often name tags + something else.  Depending on what kind of call I’m on, I may include the name of the church after my name: “Joel Miller, Columbus Mennonite Church.”  This is the organization I’m affiliated with. 

On advocacy calls, organizers regularly request that ordained clergy use our titles to add weight to our words.  So if I’m on a Zoom call with a senator or city council member’s office I’m “Rev. Joel Miller.”  I don’t just speak for myself, but for a whole community that has called me to be a leader.  (I’ll refrain from claiming I speak for God).  

I’m on several regular Zoom calls where the majority of participants identify their preferred pronouns after their names: “Joel Miller (he/him).”  The purpose is to take the onus off of those who prefer gender neutral pronouns or those who don’t identify with their gender assigned at birth.  I’ve had mixed experiences with this, some approaching unnecessary virtual signaling, another providing space for someone who was just beginning the process of gender transition to start to come out to those on the call.

I was also recently on a Zoom call about reparations in church budgets where people included the names of the Indigenous groups on whose land they live: “Joel Miller (Shawnee, Miami, Hopewell land).” 

It’s interesting to consider what different groups consider to be the next most important thing about you after your name; what is useful or essential in how we identify ourselves in different settings; what all we carry with us alongside our name, which is itself something we adopt and adapt with varying levels of willingness or ambivalence. 

One of the beautiful parts of being human is that we are all these things, and irreducible to any of them.

Rev. Joel M., he/him, Columbus Mennonite Church, Shawnee, Miami, Hopewell land

Turning our attention

We live, as some have observed, in an attention economy.  Attention, like time, is a limited resource.  Because where we direct our attention impacts what we buy, getting and keeping our attention is a key strategy for those with something to sell.

Attention is also a spiritual resource.  It is essential for being in tune with ourselves and one of the greatest gifts – if not the greatest – we can give another person.  And we can tell, I can tell! when someone is or isn’t being attentive.    

It’s hard to talk about attention without considering the role smart phones play in our lives.  I have come to accept these magic-in-the-pocket devices as part of life.  They can be pretty great.  But they are also probably my least favorite part about parenting… Can I get an Amen?

I’ve come to realize that a key thing I want for my children is the ability to be attentive to people.  To know how to be present with people in the room.  Present with and present to others.  This can involve enjoying phone things together, but often involves turning one’s attention from device to person. 

And anytime I deem something valuable for my children I am challenged to make it all the more valuable for myself.

I guess it’s another spiritual practice to add to the list.  Being aware of where we are turning our attention.  A spiritual practice with economic implications.

Joel