It’s like a big game of “trust”. You stand on the back of a sofa or, perhaps, a coffee table. My fraternity called it couch diving: we run across the living room, jump up on the back of a sofa spring up in the air, and do a backflip or a twist in the air and land in the arms of our brothers who would toss us up and down a couple of times. Trust the brothers. It never dawned on me to do otherwise. Several (dozen?) times that I ran across the room, even towards guys that I had not had the most-friendly of relations with, it never dawned on me not to trust the brothers.
So, why can I not have such a faith in God? Faith and Trust are the same word in Greek. Pistis.
Πιστεύω στους αδελφούς (I trust the brothers)
Πιστεύω στον θεό (I believe in God.)
Why when the time comes to say a big old booyah to the world, the devil and all his pomps and all his works do I still worry what will happen to me?
St Ignatius has this prayer:
Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.
The Byzantine rite asks that we be “freed from slavery to my own understanding”. My brain is limited, trapped in the disordered world view we call sin, and mired in a few disordered of my own intrinsic nature. My understanding can be a trap from which I need to be liberated.
Why does the prospect scare me?
I’ve become so used to house, to job, to shopping at Trader Joes, to walking comfortably along the precipice.
When anything that God could have for me – tedium, danger, loss, elation, risk, salvation – would be infinitely better than anything I can cobble together.
He has given his angels charge over you.
Trust the brothers.