The Rhythm of the Rules

The Rhythm of the Rules

By Judith Sears

Whether through a particular slant of religious tradition or my own hangup, I associate “law” with something external, an obligation, a restriction—in short, judgment. I read today’s Gospel, “Not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the law,” with a mixture of dismay and boredom. I think of legalese, the ubiquitous fine print that I never, ever read that says, “Read this before signing away all of your rights forever.”

My defensive heart hears “forbidden” and quickly turns that into a Me versus You or Them or God or…something.

Moses’s words in Deuteronomy (Deut 4:1, 5-9) slow down that hot take.

Moses frames statutes and decrees as blessings, something given to the tribes of Israel and not to “great nations.” The law supports life and even possession. “Hear the statutes and decrees which I am teaching you to observe, that you may enter in and take possession of the land, which the LORD, the God of your fathers, is giving you.”

Command as gift is not a thought that settles easily in me. It’s more of an irritant.

Psalm 147 pictures commands driving the natural order. “Swiftly runs his word,” it says, “so that snow spreads and frost is strewn.” “Swiftly runs” is fleet, of course, and I also picture a running stream or a current; something flowing, purposeful, moving adaptively—creatively— in life. This law isn’t fine print lying in wait to catch the unwary, but an ordering inherent in creation.

How I would love to swiftly run like a stream or, perhaps, have a purpose running through me, gently, easily, consistently ordering my days, my appetites, my life.

Such a moral law, a law of the heart, is freeing and empowering. It’s freedom not to worry about what someone else thinks. It’s empowering to pursue an ultimate good, not the goods of reputation or wealth.

The heart is meant for order. The law that I externalize as a “judgy” thing is, in fact, the rhythm of life.

To “possess that land,” though, I need a heart that trusts. Not everyone in my life has been trustworthy. I haven’t always been trustworthy.

That’s the stumbling block and that is a discovery. Lord, in the remaining days of Lent, grant me the trust I need to discover Your law in my heart. That would truly be a gift.

Imago Dei