Deciding for Peace
by Tom Baker
Lesson: Chapter 5, VII, The Decision for God
Date: July 30, 2008
Since my days as a Catholic priest, I have been fond of saying that I preferred funerals to weddings. This is a mildly provocative thing to say because of the irony of the statement in that the sad event trumps the happy event. When I got the look of shock and even dismay I would explain that at funerals people were sad but they were also, for the most part, earnest, honest, and sincere. Death, I would go on to say, strips away the superficial and we are face to face with something we cannot manipulate or avoid. And that's why funerals are, in their own way, refreshing. And why did I not like weddings? I would describe most weddings as tense fairy tales, carefully choreographed rituals that had to turn out just right so the couple could dance into a happy marriage that would last forever. However, as the couple is dancing into connubial perfection, family tensions come to the surface and unresolved issues flare up as old lovers and estranged family members confront or ignore one another. With weddings there is more strategy than there is candidness, more theatre than honest celebration. So I would say, until last week when I officiated at a friend of mine's son's wedding.
In planning their wedding, the couple had asked me to make a few remarks on the sanctity of marriage. I had agreed without thinking much about it, but as the day of the ceremony approached I realized that I did not know much about the sanctity or holiness of marriage. A Course In Miracles assures us that not knowing is the beginning of wisdom so I tried to stay in my ignorance and called to mind lesson 49 which states that God's voice speaks to us throughout the day, that, whether we are aware of it or not, "the part of your mind in which truth abides is in constant communication with God." As I entered that quiet place where grace is always present the thought came clearly to me that the sanctity of marriage did not lie in a religion or a church or a ritual but in the person----the holiness of each other is the sanctity of marriage. In fact, I thought ecstatically, the holiness of humanity is the secret of enlightenment. The test, or discernment, of a truth is to carry it into the world and see if it applies. So I took my thought to the wedding.
The wedding was outdoors, by a lake in the shade of big trees in the Catskills. Beautiful, serene, and hot. Like most of life, a mixed blessing. As I looked at the bride and groom their holiness was easy to see. Even the part of my mind controlled by the ego saw their holiness, calling it specialness and condemning myself and others for not having as much of it, but holiness it was, and obvious. But in the gathered families and friends the lines of strain were predominant. Yet, as I focused on the thought of the holiness of the bride and groom (and of my own wife sitting on the aisle in the fifth row) I began to see how everyone was holy, but that the radiance of holiness so obvious in the bride and groom, was clouded by the anxiety and blame and loneliness that buzzed around the group like insects. But as I kept my focus, keeping still in the present, the holiness of everyone was what persisted. I saw the group as whole and I felt deeply glad. Our holiness, I thought, is the light that illuminates the world. Then came the reception and a shadow fell across my bright vision.
At the reception the music was loud and we danced. Some of us had partners and some of us did not. People huddled in their groups, several sat conspicuously alone. Conversation was either intense or awkward. I began a sad reverie on the loneliness of the world. I was on the edge of wishing I was at a funeral. Then, as I was dancing the twist with my wife, I saw that she was having a wonderful time. My wife is a world-class introvert. She loves her solitude. She relishes silence. Yet, here she was singing along with the blaring music, laughing, pointing, raising her hands and hooting. We sat down at last and I asked her if she was really having as much fun as it looked. She shouted to me (the music was constantly loud) that she had decided to enjoy herself and would I like to join her. I half-heartedly agreed, citing the decibel level of the entertainment. But as the evening went on I realized that Kathy had chosen to enjoy herself, that her happiness was a choice. At the deepest level she was choosing God or rather she was choosing not to escape the care of God by listening to the voice of the ego that was reciting to me what was wrong with everybody and with life. My wife, in her direct and uncomplicated way was accepting the love of God: "You cannot choose to escape His care because that is not His Will, but you can choose to accept His care and use the infinite power of His care for all those He created by it." (Chap. 5, VII., p. 89.) It might be said that we can never escape the care of God but we will never receive it on our own terms. Why not on our own terms? Because they are the ego's terms, the terms of guilt and punishment and fear and death. For this it is a blessing that we cannot have it our way.
At the end of chapter 5 we are invited to decide for God. This doesn't mean something else to do but an undoing (the meaning of Atonement). An undoing of the voice we made to replace God, which the Course calls the ego, an undoing of the thought system we use to be separate, and, the most difficult, undoing of the plans we make to insure our safety and happiness on our own terms. This undoing is both an act of the heart and an exercise of the mind. The act of the heart is to "merely cast your care upon Him because He careth for you." This echoes Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew when he points to the birds flying over and assures his followers, "They [the birds] do not sow or reap or gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they are? Can any of you, for all his worrying, add one single cubit to his span of life?" (Matt. 6: 26-27). The exercise of the mind is outlined at the end of the chapter: "Your part is merely to return your thinking to the point at which the error was made, and give it over to the Atonement in peace." We are then given a step-by-step process in which we decide for peace. While the process looks involved at first it is actually a very simple matter of deciding not to decide for yourself about your own happiness, but to give both your mistaken thoughts and your choice for God to the Holy Spirit. In other words, "Spirit, I give you what I no longer want and will follow your guidance to find what I have always loved."
The assignment next week is all of Chapter 6 in the text of ACIM. We have covered some of this material before, specifically the part concerning the crucifixion, but we have not spent much time on the rest of the chapter. It is very rich because it expands upon what it means to decide for God and how to think with God.
© Copyright Tom Baker 2008