Pacing the Cage

Luke 5:12-16

Once, when he was in one of the cities, there was a man covered with leprosy. When he saw Jesus, he bowed with his face to the ground and begged him, “Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.” Then Jesus stretched out his hand, touched him, and said, “I do choose. Be made clean.” Immediately the leprosy left him. And he ordered him to tell no one. “Go,” he said, “and show yourself to the priest, and, as Moses commanded, make an offering for your cleansing, for a testimony to them.” But now more than ever the word about Jesus spread abroad; many crowds would gather to hear him and to be cured of their diseases. But he would withdraw to deserted places and pray.

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Pause for a moment and take another listen to the opening lines of poetry found in our song for today: "Sunset is an angel weeping, holding out a bloody sword. No matter how I squint, I cannot make out what it's pointing toward." It's haunting how these words appear to reflect the struggles and noises that fill our lives in expected and unexpected ways. Those struggles and noises could well possibly be the turbulent waters of life that keep us tossing and turning, to and fro, in a state of anxious worry or dread. These storms either build up over time or appear instantaneously; regardless, they always seem to hit us where it hurts, increasing our bodies and souls' weariness. This feeling of "pacing the cage" and desire to retreat to a quiet place happens to all of us, even Jesus, and it forces a reminder that is placed right in front of us that rest is a core tenant of our bodily and spiritual well-being. 

This cover of Bruce Cockburn's "Pacing the Cage" by Jimmy Buffett fits our series that focuses on the music and lifestyle that brings us to a place where we find that life is more than what we think defines who we are. Part of that journey of discovery is found in the darkness, the storms of life, that we will eventually encounter. There are tempests that overwhelm us, heavy rain that chills our spines, and clouds that dull our senses and keep us in the realm of the mundane, a place where we simply wake up, do what needs to be done and then go back to sleep. "Pacing the Cage" paints a dreary picture, but it captures the feeling the majority of us feel in our guts when it seems like we're trapped in a world without meaning, endlessly going on and on. However, even in this downtrodden depiction of life, Bruce Cockburn offers a glimmer of hope, which we'll address in a little bit. 

We'll get to the hope part in a moment. We can't jump straight to it because it would do us a disservice if we didn't stop to sit in the darkness, the churning waters that bring us to the place where we feel like we are pacing our cage day after day without a way out. It could be life that's getting us down (relationships, responsibilities, realities); it could be our spirits (anxiousness, fear, hopelessness); or it could be a combination of all of the above and then some. That's where we begin to place ourselves in our reading for today. After having been swarmed by people looking for help, Jesus retreats to a deserted place, a quiet place, and prays. This isn't the first time Jesus walked away in order to find a calm place away from the hustle and bustle of life. And if Jesus had to get away and hit the pause button, then why don't we? Or the better question would be, why can some hit the pause button easily, and others find it difficult or impossible. 

It's a privilege to own the ability to walk away, to distance oneself from the choppy waters of life. In most cases, I'm able to hit the pause button and sit in the darkness, in the quiet; that's a privilege. There are others here who could most likely hit the pause button to sit in the darkness, the quiet, as well, and that's a privilege. I wouldn't ask for a show of hands, but I would venture to guess that some here cannot hit the pause button. I would imagine that there are people across the street from the church, people who live next to you, who cannot pause to find rest from the type of struggles we are talking about today. Jesus knew the value of getting away. We are privileged enough to get away and see the value that it brings to our physical and spiritual lives. We are people of God, people who know how complicated things can get, and if we know that we are people of God, and we know how difficult life can be, then why can't we help one another as we see ourselves and others who are also pacing the cage. 

Here is where we arrive back at the hope I alluded to, the seemingly allusive hope that dwells within the poetry of Bruce Cockburn. There is hope on edge, waiting to lift us up from the dreariness that surrounds us. If you haven't caught onto the feeling of the stormy waters that I've been talking about, I'm talking about the kind of fog that clouds our hearts and minds. A fog that makes it seem like we are going through the paces with no heart or passion. On the edge of these waters is the hope, restorative hope, that poets like Cockburn and Buffett knew were significant, and hope that Jesus knew was essential to the care of our bodies and souls. The journey to that place of restorative hope is not going to be what we expected. As Bruce Cockburn writes, "Sometimes the best map will not guide you; you can't see what's round the bend. Sometimes the road leads through dark places. Sometimes the darkness is your friend."

It's on this anticipation of what's coming around the bend; it's on this edge of discovery, where we might find the way out of the rut or trap we find ourselves in at the moment. Even if we are doing charitable work (like Jesus healing the multitudes who came to him) or deeds that we find meaningful, what started as liberating can soon feel like a trap built of good intentions. If you think you're in a moment like that, go to your deserted place to pray, meditate, exercise, you name it. And if you see someone who's struggling and they aren't able to get away, ask if you can help them out. You're not going to solve all their problems, but you can be a friend at that moment who can walk through the darkness, the tumultuous waters, and the unknown with them. Amen.