The Way

By Kent Chadwick

Rolling Bay Presbyterian Church

October, 2004.

For me, the most compelling description of the early Christian community was “followers of the way.” The way they followed was one of hope, reconciliation, empowerment and love, a way both ancient and startlingly new.

Over the last decade Rolling Bay Presbyterian Church, the faith community I’m a member of, has intentionally focused on that way from the perspective of the spiritual journey. The spiritual journey is the sequence of subtle changes that take place inside you as you stop, listen, and turn towards the quiet urging of God’s spirit. We've learned that as we try to follow the way of Jesus we find ourselves on a deepening spiritual journey with parallels in all religions. We’ve come to realize, more strongly than ever, that all faith traditions teach about the way.

The Jewish prophets proclaimed the way of the righteous. Mohammed taught of the level way that we should follow. Buddha revealed the “Middle Way.” Japan’s native religion of Shintoism literally means “the Way of the Gods.” Taoism can be translated as “the Way.” Navajos follow the Nizhoni, the “Beauty Way.”

Across religious traditions we can recognize the milestones of the way that others have passed. We can share stories, learn, and encourage each other, even though we don’t fully understand where each others’ journeys are headed. In fact, I don’t know where my way is headed, at least not in specifics. But I can say what I’ve experienced so far.

The way does not belong to me. I’m not a Meriwether Lewis pathfinding my own way through the spiritual wilderness. The religious traditions of Judaism, Taoism, Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam all teach that a way has been prepared for us. We don’t create the way; we find it laid out before us. Our challenge is to follow. That’s tough for me, since I want to lead. But I can’t lead the way. When I try to I quickly get lost.

The way is paradoxical. It is both singular and manifold at the same time. There seem to be thousands of ways that are all good and true. But when I’m following, the way is one. Then I’m confronted by choices that would seem to take me down two different paths, yet sometimes either choice is still part of the same way. Within a religious tradition we can share a way together. Our common theology gives us a shared set of concepts to help make sense of our journeys. Across religious traditions, though, those theological concepts can hinder communication. In their stead we can compare experience, offer metaphors of what our journey has meant to us, and always comfort and strengthen each other.

The way is not the easiest path. It may not be the hardest path, though that was St. Francis’s predilection, but it’s not the easiest either. Why is that? That is our eternal question; that is the question of Job. But I do know that the way changes us. To be on the way is to choose change and bear suffering. Sometimes when I look back at those changes or burdens, I find that through them I’ve been made into more of the person I've wanted to be.

Though the stages of the way may be mysterious, its end is clear. That clarity is shared across our traditions. The end, the goal of the way is completion, shalom, blessedness, enlightenment, holiness, salvation. While we’re on the way we can sometimes feel the sheer joy of that end. For me that feeling is fleeting and precious.

The way is not our life; it is the song of our life. The daily details of my life do not constitute the way. Not every moment is holy; not every decision is a moral choice. The way is not the work I do, the pursuits I cherish, or the ideas I ponder. It is more profound, yet more intangible than that. It’s like a melody rising from the very center of life and the world. Attending to that melody, trying to follow the tune, I find I can squeak out some of its notes, hum a few bars, and for an occasional moment sing in full harmony.

Blessings to you. Be on your way.