Stopping

I’ve probably written it here before – excuse me if I’m getting old and tedious – but it captured my imagination when, twenty years or so back, our ordination college principal (the dear and beloved Martin Baddeley) said of the encounter between Jesus and the Syro-Phoenician woman:

"Jesus walked, and He stopped. 

What is the speed of love?"

Holed up in my room editing, the sound of a child wailing dismally carries in from the street.  And I think, ‘Stop.  Just stop.  Why don’t you stop and find out what the matter is?  Why not stop walking, bend down to hear what the trouble is, do what you can to sort it out?’

About a week ago I was very bad-tempered with my husband – unreasonably difficult.  What in Hastings we call ‘arsey’.  I upset him.   Afterwards, I explained to him that completely unrelated issues had been stressing me, to the point where I felt locked in, felt like an animal at bay, pursued high onto a crag with no way of escape, and I’d turned round snarling at the first human being who came near me.  I gave him a pass-key.  I said, if I behave like that again you can ask me, ‘Are you locked in?  Are you stuck on a crag?’ – and I will hear you and be able to say, ‘Yes,’ and you’ll know it’s not really you I’m snarling at.  A pass-key that will unlock the situation, allow what is escalating into something nasty to stop.

Sometimes if I am about to say something unkind or unhelpful, about to pass on some information about a person that will set others against them, create dislike, I might choose instead to just STOP.

Then there is the Quaker STOP – so valuable – the ‘Uh-oh!’ breathed by the still small voice, counselling caution, applying the brakes.

Going too fast causes many situations to get out of hand. 

Jesus walked, and He stopped.  What is the speed of love?

Before you cross over, in any human encounter: 

STOP + LOOK  + LISTEN.