A friend deeply attuned to market machinations called in a bleary depression and awakened me late in the night. Did I see how bad things were going to get? Could I see we were heading into an international depression? Did I understand how the president’s chaotic manner left us without coherent leadership?
I was the chosen vessel to receive the morose diatribe of a man highly invested in his investments. For him, that night, the sky would fall, and all would be lost. Alas.
I had no opinion on whether his dire predictions would prove accurate. And since I was only a modest investor, I was surprised he called me with his analysis. Later I realized that though he had no relationship with Christ Church, the “reverend thing” prompted his call.
For whatever reason, and though he never said so, he was scared (I imagined his concern for the future of his portfolio was a stand-in for a more existential angst); his fear dredged up the questions of meaning. By instinct, he knew that, though I was not expert at predicting what the next months would bring by way of politics and economics, I was likely convinced that long after our Congress sputtered its last word and the market was spent, matters of the soul and spirit would endure. That’s why I got the call. In this sense, his instincts were good. That came to me after he hung up.
So, for several minutes I held him in heart and mind before God. And while I was at it, I prayed that I would always keep the deep questions up front and center in my conscious attention, that I wouldn’t lose track of who’s who and what’s what.
You might be surprised to learn that my vocation doesn’t save me from distracted living. Actually, it’s useful to write this down and share it with you. Notwithstanding the “reverend doctor” moniker, we’re on this journey together… thank God.