Mind the Gap
- Dr. Tom Wagner
- Mar 29
- 6 min read
What would it mean to “love the one you’re with”—when that one is you, just as you are? This reflection explores that invitation.
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A Note to Readers:
My good friend, Doctor Tim Bono, is an excellent researcher, as well as a wise man. He’s also incredibly entertaining. My research interests have always drawn me toward the topic of resilience. Over the years, I’ve found that research on the topic of happiness covers much of the same territory. On Sunday, April 12, Tim will mine that territory where these two topics intersect. In preparation for that event, I’m reading his book, When Likes Aren’t Enough. Let me tell you, you are in for a treat, as well as a retreat. Tickets are selling briskly, so don’t put off reserving yours. This time around, if you’re interested, we’ll gather on the patio of our venue an hour early (3:00pm) for appetizers, drinks, and socializing. See you there!
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Mind the Gap
Last week, my church celebrated the Fifth Sunday of Lent with the iconic Lazarus scripture (John 11: 1-44). You wouldn’t have to be a church goer or even a Christian to know the…ahem… “bones” of this story. A quick search turns up a slew of musical references, including Sting’s, The Lazarus Heart, and David Bowie’s, Lazarus, eerily, written right before his death. Poets have also mined this narrative territory, including Sylvia Plath’s, decidedly dark, Lady Lazarus, and Carol Ann Duffy’s poignant elegy, Mrs. Lazarus. For anyone who has occupied this planet long enough, the archetypal character of this passage is self-evident. Who hasn’t longed for health to be restored against all odds? Did Lazarus get ten more years of life, post-resurrection? What wouldn’t a person give for even just one more day with their deceased beloved?
The pastor of the church where I attended Mass last Sunday, elected to go with the long-form, forty-four verse version of the story. Depending on my mood, one of religion’s greatest virtues can easily morph into her greatest vice, namely, repetition. On a day when the tide of my religious fervor has gone out, these jumbo-sized readings that I’ve heard over a hundred times conjure my inner Monty Python. I imagine using my Holy Grail accent to blurt out, “Skip a bit, Brother,” while making that circular, “hurry up,” hand motion.
On a day when I’m more centered, a long story like this one will transform into a familiar old haunt, where God and I can rendezvous over a shared cup of coffee together. That’s when I’ll do my best to listen with my heart to see which words or phrases cause a feeling or a reaction. When a reaction like that occurs, I’ll stop and carefully listen. Thanks to the inclusion of all 44 verses last Sunday, a phrase stood out for me that caused me to hear something brand new in that old familiar story. Jesus’ decision to return to Bethany to look in on his best friends, including Lazarus, meant coming dangerously close to Jerusalem, the very place where the Jesus crew had recently fled for their lives. So…here’s what caught my attention. Thomas, the Apostle more or less says, “Well, if there’s no talking you out of this trip, then I’ll come with you, and we’ll die together.” It occurred to me, that Thomas’ heroism was about as permanent as a barista’s frothy artwork topping a cup of latte. No scriptural account of Good Friday ever records Thomas following through on this courageous oath.
I kind of zoned out for the rest of the reading in favor of imagining Thomas’ state of mind post-Good Friday. In light of his master’s tragic death, he’d have been remembering the bravado he displayed when the Jesus crew set out for Bethany. When the going got tough, like almost all of his colleagues, he scrammed. I wonder, what was it like for Thomas to wrestle with himself in that gap between his convictions and his actions? I guess I’m wondering because I’ve occupied that territory once or twice myself.
As a counselor, I’ve accompanied many clients who’ve found themselves stuck in that gap between the convictions they held, and the actions that failed to embody those convictions. There’s a kind of bravery involved in the willingness to take an unflinching look at the thing you wish you could erase, but can’t—especially when “that thing” reveals a humbling aspect of yourself. For these courageous souls, the counseling process is mainly about accompanying them through their own grieving process—not for the sake of penance so much as coming to a realistic and loving acceptance of themselves, just the way they are, rather than the way they wish they were. Like Lazarus, something has to be left back in the tomb, to emerge with the necessary ingredients for healing. Like Lazarus, frequently, we need someone’s help to untie us, as we exit the tomb of our own making.
Mirabai Starr, in her book, Everyday Mysticism, describes a kind of opportunity available to those who find themselves in the space between whom they wish they were, and whom they’ve turned out to be. Quoting Steven Stills' famous 1970 anthem, she describes the calling embedded in these moments something like this. Rather than wishing you were that other person, why don’t you just try to “love the one you’re with?” In other words, the “one you’re with,” is you, rather than that other imaginary guy or gal. Why not love that one. Yourself, just the way you are!
Biblical Commentary for When You’ve Really Messed Up
The great spiritual master, who you probably never heard of, Vince Hovley, liked to point out that John’s Gospel alone makes mention of two campfires. One was the hand-warming fire where Peter denied Jesus three times, just outside the prison on the night before Good Friday. The other was the fire on the seashore where Peter affirmed his love for Jesus a corresponding three times, while eating a feast of fish and bread prepared for the whole Jesus crew during their post-resurrection reunion.
Through the use of this literary device, the author of John’s Gospel is issuing a challenge to the likes of Peter, Thomas, and you and me. Whether your lapse or failure was recent or ancient, John’s Gospel asks, “Which fire are you warming yourself by?” The scalding fire of your regrets? Or the glowing embers of that fire on the seashore fueled by Loving Presence?
Dialogue and Discussion Questions:
Longtime SMC readers know that “the Dialogue” section of this article is set aside for a good conversation over a cup of coffee—with a friend, with a group, or just with yourself! As always, feel free to share your reaction or reflection in the “Comments” section below.
If you are using this article for a group discussion, the following question can only be answered with a great deal of vulnerability. It will require this shared commitment: “What’s said between us, stays between us” (i.e. confidentiality). So here’s the prompt: “What is the experience in your life that you have wished to rewind and erase?” Tell that story to your group. Let their compassionate listening, and your compassionate telling of that story, heal you some.
Have you ever had to go through a grieving process to metabolize an event in your life that was difficult to accept? Describe how you did that. Were there any wise or generous souls that helped you on that journey?
Often enough, I’ve heard a person in recovery say, “I’m not glad for all the mayhem and suffering my addiction has caused. I will say that if I hadn’t gone through all of that, I wouldn’t have picked up all the blessings that have come from my recovery.” Have you ever felt this way? In other words, in light of the healing that came from something really hard, have you found a kind of benefit or blessing?
What have you found that helps you to “Love the one you’re with” (i.e. loving yourself just the way you are)?
Think of a toddler that continually moves toward putting herself in harm’s way. Now think of a firm, but gentle parent that redirects that toddler toward safety, and delight. Are you able to repetitively guide your mind and imagination from the fires of regret to the fires of self-compassion?
Please share with the SMC community your thoughts and/or reflections in the comments below.