Common Ground

Ecclesiastes 3:11
Jay W. Marshall, Dean
Earlham School of Religion
Delivered during programmed worshipat AFSC Annual Corporation Meeting
Saturday, November 3, 2001

“There is a river down near my dad’s old farm,” she said. “We used to canoe that river during the summer when I was a child. We should do that some time. It would be fun to do together.”

Still being in that relatively fresh stage of young love that will agree to almost anything just to be in the presence of his personal universe’s new center, he blurted out, “Yeah, that would be great. Let’s do that–sometime..” Truth be told, he’d never canoed a day in his life except for that one afternoon at Quaker Haven camp. That was lake water– still water– so it didn’t really count. And, he hated to get wet with his clothes on. “If God had meant for people to wear wet clothes . . .” He could never think of a good ending for that statement, but he felt the first part with such passion, it had to be true.

Being a Type-A personality and a strong “J” on the Meyers-Briggs, she immediately produced a calendar and selected a date that was free for both of them. She knew he was free because they had been dating for three months so by now his schedule was color-coded on her calendar.

The day of their maiden voyage arrived, one filled with excitement and exuberance; the other feeling an anxiety that rooted around in the pit of his stomach like a wild hog looking for a meal. It didn’t help that he began the trip barefooted after the thong of his flip-flop ripped apart when, thanks to a misstep, his right foot sank deep into the muddy, marshy bank of the river. “So what,” he thought. “I’ll be in the canoe. Who needs shoes in a boat?” So they continued their adventure, setting the canoe in the river somewhere upstream of the family farm. It would be a nice morning, floating together down this childhood paradise, this family friend, this river.

Actually the term “river” was a bit generous. More truthfully it was a creek–a large creek, but a creek none the less. It was deep and wide enough to be canoed though–her family had done it often when she was a child.

“This has been a dry spring and summer so far,” he thought. “The water looks a bit shallow in places.” He said so–aloud–in a fashion that was both a question of concern and a mild protest. Both were dismissed with a casualness and comfort that allayed his concerns. Off they floated, two hearts beating closer– nearly as one. Two sets of oars, one of which rowed with a regular rhythm that complemented the movement of the creek and one set that tagged along in the water like a struggling child being dragged along on a shopping trip

A few hundred yards into the trip and all was well. It was a beautiful day. The summer sun smiled across the water’s surface. A gentle wind kissed their cheeks repeatedly. The peaceful splendor of the moment wasn’t perfect though, being interrupted as it was by an occasional scraping sound that rattled their paradise. It could only mean the creek bed was a bit closer to the bottom of the canoe than one would desire. It had been a dry summer after all. Had he said that lately?

“How far is it down the creek, er, river, to the farm?” he queried, thinking that if eternity seemed this long, cable TV would be a must, even in heaven.

She was never one to care too much about precision in things related to numbers. If she had told him that once, she had told him at least a million times. “I don’t know,” she replied absentmindedly. “Just a little way.”

He became aware of a dull ache in his backside, and wondered why the seats in this canoe were so hard. Probably a sign that all canoe-ers should have buns of steel, which he definitely did not. Would a little cushion have been too much luxury to add? Was a seat back out of question? He wondered if this experience would count as credit toward honoring the Quaker testimony of simplicity. On they rowed, wondering if the coming clouds would bring storms.

Several yards further up the creek, the scraping sound grew louder and more frequent. Moving to the center of the stream in hopes of finding the deepest water did little to bring silence. Irritation increased, at least for him. Forward movement stopped. Turns out that rope used to tie the canoe to a dock could serve multiple purposes. So could he, though never in his life had he imagined himself as a human tugboat. A creek bed lined with its own version of mini-mine fields– sharp rocks--didn’t make life easier, especially with bare feet. She gave him her flip-flops to wear–a nice and meaningful gesture–but size 8 flip-flops can really only do so much for size 11 feet. He really wished she’d just get out and pull the canoe herself–this was her idea, after all. For most of the rest of the journey he alternated between being a passenger and a tugboat. And while it wasn’t his idea of an ideal trip, he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather pull on a canoe trip like this one.

Much further along, a sharp bend in the river provided a picturesque location for a picnic. Fortunately for him, she had planned for this as she planned for most things. A towering rock formation climbed toward the sky, forming an overhang that provided a cave-like, riverside caf. Even raindrops whipped by the wind into their makeshift dining room couldn’t dampen the joy of that moment.

The journey resumed with satisfied appetites and warm hearts. It was a good thing, too, especially the latter, as the ratio of tugging to riding increased significantly in the later stages of this grand adventure. A knee bloodied from a fall on the rocky creek bed floor brought a look of horror from her. Having not noticed the slow red ooze nor the pain, he identified her look with his own fear and assumed a snake of some sort was slithering behind him when she point in his direction. He moved with high steps suited to a marching band. He blew a valve or two when he realized there was no snake—a strange reaction really--since he didn’t like slithering critters, one would think he’d have been relieved. She forgave him for confusing concern with deception, and for the anger that erupted because of his mistake. It probably helped that she marched in the school band for many years and recognized a good high step when she saw one, especially from a novice.

The farm finally came into view, and not a moment too soon for him. Canoes, after all, are made to be rowed, not towed. Trips are more enjoyable when the seats are comfortable. And shoes should fit when you wear them, especially in water. He ended that trip convinced he’d never, ever ride in another canoe as long as he lived--unless she asked him; and as she exited her water taxi, privately smiling that he had passed her test and certain that she never wanted to go anywhere else without him.

It is nothing short of amazing how the same events can produce different experiences for those involved? Even more incredible is the fact that amidst the diversity of the moment, it is possible for parties involved to find common ground! That possibility gives me reason for hope in these days. For as people who aspire to be people of faith envision and imagine their futures, I believe we must move beyond doctrines and actions that rigidly divide and isolate in favor of methods that identify solid common ground upon which we can fashion a faithfulness that leads to things like love, respect, unity and peace.

I find several stories in Scripture that are useful when this topic comes to mind. We can certainly find examples where claims to common ground lead to violence. That is a default response not limited to biblical materials, unfortunately. But other examples are found in these pages as well. Most of my favorites involve wells–not exactly a river, but water at least, and related to survival–as is our search for common ground.

Genesis 21 describes an encounter between Abraham and Abimelech as the path of Abraham’s journey again flows into the region where Abimelech’s people live. Though a covenant is in place, a complaint emerges: Abimelech’s people have stolen a well that Abraham claims.

I like to play with the names of these biblical characters. I find it interesting that while the name Abraham means “father of a multitude,” the word Abimelech means “my father is king.” The identity of one is defined in relationship to many; the other is defined by a single person. Being related to a “multitude” suggests a father’s responsibility. Being related to a “king” suggests power and privilege. So we have here not just a dispute between Abraham and Abimelech, but a dispute between the needs of many versus power and privilege. Common needs. Disputed boundaries. Different motivations. How does one canoe through the rocky river bed in which these lay? In this case, the answer is “by negotiation and good faith covenants,” probably with a bit of anxiety and tension remaining! Sometimes that works well, particularly if each party is strong enough or important enough to the other that the terms of the covenant are honored.

Like father, like son, some say. In Genesis 26 Abraham’s son, Isaac, is in a similar situation. Traveling the semi-nomadic path of his father before him, Isaac re-digs Abraham’s wells. Again, Abimelech’s thugs come and steal the wells. Rather than fight or even negotiate, Isaac merely moves on and digs another. And another. Finally, he digs a well that is not taken by his enemies and comments “Now the Lord has made room for both of us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.” Perhaps it is with good reason that Isaac is named as he is, for his name means “laughter.” A sense of humor and an ability to laugh seem crucial to approaching life in a way that not every issue is a “must win” situation. It makes it easier to stomach those moments when accommodation is the right choice.

In some ways, Isaac’s actions are not ones I like, but there is an important lesson to learn. It is important to know that not every quarrel is worth pursuing. Not every battle must be fought. There are times when walking away is appropriate, particularly if we sense that our own faithfulness can as easily occur “there” as it could have occurred “here.” The tricky part is knowing when to give way and move on.

The well is not always a source of contest in these stories. For Jacob and Moses, the community watering hole was a place of meaningful connection when each of them looked to marry. Jacob rolled away a stone to help Rachel water her father’s herd. Moses defended his bride-to-be’s family from shepherds who wouldn’t allow them to water their father’s herds. Isn’t it encouraging to know that strangers can meet at intersecting moments and find reasons to build a common life together? While that comes with its own set of complexities, that option clearly holds more promise than those that cling tenuously to good will covenants between adversaries, and more than repeated accommodation and avoidance.

The shared rivers and wells and other places where our paths intersect force us to share common space. A reality we can not escape is that we share this space with people who are different than we. We will interpret experiences differently than both friend and foe. We will form contradictory opinions. We act out of varied belief systems, believing that God directs our paths.

I think we can only succeed in being faithful people if finding common ground is part of our spiritual discipline and part of our practicing faith. Given those differing origins, formations, and perspectives, in this day and age it seems an important question, “how shall we find common ground?”

If we emphasize our humanity as common ground where we might bond, we’ll discover that connection is not strong enough. However true that commonality may be, we humans quickly divide into subgroups that have greater persuasion over our minds, hearts and values.

If we emphasize our joint occupancy of this planet as our common bond, we will discover that bond is not enough. Spatially, we may all be riding in the same boat as far as planet earth goes, and you’d think we’d understand that if we shoot the bottom out of the canoe, we will all sink. But there will always be some who think their side of the boat won’t sink, or who believe they are strong enough swimmers to survive. It seems we value space differently. I’ve seen entire extended families pack themselves into a space I’d think was barely suitable for a workshop. Even more, the very concept of “shared space” is an oxymoron to some. Shared space is important, but as a sole source of common ground, we seem more prone to fight over it as ownership rather than to share it.

If we emphasize God, trusting that somehow in our spiritual capacity we will find common ground, I am afraid we will still fail. For there is no single vision of God that unifies in a cohesive way–not even within Christianity, and certainly not in the larger context of global religions. We find enough similarities to carry on a loosely connecting dialogue, but of a quality that easily unravels. It is apparent that very religious people have such different conceptions of God that the one who Creates, Redeems and Sustains us all (could we agree on any of those three?) is, many times, our reason for separating rather than for uniting. Indeed, we find extremists in nearly every group who would become martyrs of one type or another to prevent unity from happening. Particularly when we join God and space in our thinking, we tend to defend sacred space and those humans like us who are within our space, rather than to seek common holy ground. We wind up guarding our wells and driving away those who seek to water there.

Where, then, shall people seeking faithfulness look for common ground? Oddly enough, I find a thread of hope in the book considered by many to be the most pessimistic book in Scripture. Ecclesiastes 3:11 reads “God has set eternity in the hearts of humans; yet they can not fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” I believe it is in our quest for understanding, in our sense of being overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all, in the anxiety that emerges from realizing that, indeed, we are not masters of our own universe--in those things we can most easily discover a common ground with our fellow travelers. For just when we think we have worked out the meaning of life, God’s values and plans, and our role in the big picture, something happens that makes our nice internal encyclopedia of religious answers to life seem terribly outdated or just plain wrong.

Let me suggest that these can be precious moments. For in those moments we experience a vulnerability that is both unsettling and empowering. Unsettling, because we prefer security. Empowering because we realize no one can manage alone. In that moment we are able to see and to embrace a multitude of companions on the journey. We learn, in other words from Ecclesiastes (4:9ff), that “two are better than one . . . for if they fall, one will lift up the other. . . if two lie together, they warm; but how can one keep warm alone? . . . A threefold cord is not quickly broken.” In those overwhelmed and vulnerable moments, we are driven to God whose love and grace are matched only by God’s mystery. In the process we can learn to trust that what God said to the apostle Paul, God also says to us: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Friends, as we paddle (or pull) whatever canoes take us along life’s journey, may the quest for common ground be an integral part of our faithful living; and may our faithful living contribute to a common ground for us all that becomes ever more holy for all of us.