“Remember Lot’s wife.”
--Luke 17:32
When I come upon a scripture verse cited in a different context (a novel, a poem, a movie, etc), most of the time I just accept it at face value. I trust the author is using it sincerely and appropriately. This morning, however, as I was reading a papal encyclical about love (“God is Love” by Benedict XVI) I came upon this quotation from Luke:
“Whosoever seeks to save his life
will lose it, and whosoever loses
his life shall preserve it.” (17:33)
And for some reason, I almost immediately got out my Bible to look it up—as if fact checking the Pope! But still, I went to my Bible and found the chapter and the verse and had a strange kind of epiphany, an “Ah, ha! moment,” as the wonderful Dr. Joy Linsley (UST) used to call them. The verse just before these words is the call to remember Lot’s wife, and I wondered: How had I never noticed that before?
Yet here I am on a rainy Saturday morning in November,
curious about God and Love and so many other things, and I can’t stop thinking
about that iconic pillar of salt and trying to connect it to the idea of
seeking to preserve one’s own life… How
are those two things connected? And why
is that the one sure way of losing everything.
“Remember Lot’s wife.
“Whosoever seeks to save his life
will lose it, and whosoever loses
his life shall preserve it.” (17:32-33)
I don’t have an answer, but I have an image. Contemplating this passage, I was struck by the image of a woman turned not into a literal pillar of salt, but into an embittered soul, someone who seems to bring a dark cloud with them wherever they go, sowing discord, creating distress, or simply bursting bubbles with every sharp comment or piece of unwanted “advice.” And I am wondering if the real lesson of Lot’s wife wasn’t simply that she looked back, but that she wouldn’t stop looking back?
Before this morning, I’d always thought of Lot’s wife as a kind of Jewish version of Pandora. But, instead of opening a box, she couldn’t resist the temptation to look back. But now I am picturing her sitting at the Thanksgiving table with Lot and the family, complaining about the turkey—too dry, too small—and the stuffing—not enough sage. The green beans needed more dried onion, and the Jello mold wasn’t quite moldy enough… The world, seen through those eyes, never quite measures up, is never as good as it used to be, as she remembered… something is always wrong, something always needs correcting. It was always better before, in the old days, back in Sodom and Gomorrah!
You see, in the ancient world, what was salt used for? Flavor and as a preservative. The pillar of salt that I see now, isn't a stone like figure, but an embittered person who refuses to let go of the past, who uses her salt to preserve old memories, old arguments, old slights and wounds are kept alive in this pillar of salt. Remember Lot's wife, makes me now think of someone who refuses to move forward, but instead constantly recalls how things were and especially how they were better....
Thinking about this, I realize, I don’t want to be a pillar of salt. I don’t want to be someone who brings a dark cloud of judgment and bitterness. I want to be a life-giving stream of living water, a source of joy and refreshment. I want to open doors for others to find their way, their memories, their traditions, and their new paths.
And so this Thanksgiving, while celebrating family and
tradition, I want to make room for something new, be open to the gifts and
graces of the moment, and each and every person I meet. Listen with an open ear and heart, let others (even my family) find in me a chance to shine their light and discover their own gifts, feel not only accepted but loved. I may not agree with every opinion, but I don't always have to express my own. Of course, at our table there will be our traditional To-furkey,
along with chestnut dressing, mashed potatoes and gluten free-veggie pot pie, but I will
also be open to anything new that comes along. New side dishes, new desserts...
Heck, I might even try some of that new-fangled treat people call: pumpkin pie! But whatever comes my way, instead of comparing it to the past, or to
what I hoped it would be, I will instead be grateful for the gift of family, friends, food on the table, and love in the air. Whether it’s raining and cold or muggy and warm
this Thanksgiving, I want to remember that all may not be as I like, but --in truth-- all is grace.
And so, I say: Thank you and God Bless you all.
And Happy Thanksgiving.
